


Of Flames and Complacence

by FollyOfWinchester



Series: Self-Indulgent Epilogue Ruination Write-xtravaganza [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Couples Counseling, Divorce, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Endgame Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, First Time, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Hallucinations, Heteroflexible Ginny Weasley, Heteroflexible Harry Potter, Kissing, Lesbian Luna Lovegood, Love Letters, M/M, Mental Anguish, Oral Sex, Pansexual Draco Malfoy, Parenthood, Plotty, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Problems, Self-Indulgent Coincidences, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering, Very Secret Diary, Wizard Dueling, but mostly Angst...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 31,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollyOfWinchester/pseuds/FollyOfWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unlikely first-year friendship between their children forces Harry and Draco to face their fears and reevaluate their lives. Set during the 2017-2018 academic year of Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Flames

**Author's Note:**

> This is the companion work to "Of Hats and Forgiveness" that tells a parallel story from the adults' perspectives. They were originally going to be one work, but I decided that intermixing lighthearted childhood friendships with mental illness and hardcore porn was a poor creative choice on my part. =/
> 
> This fic takes only the information in the books as canon. I have not followed Pottermore, so there may be discrepancies between what I write and what has canonically taken place through information on Pottermore.
> 
> Don't start reading this if you can't handle me never finishing it. Mind the changing tags/rating.
> 
> Please let me know if my brutish American fake-English slips in anywhere that's noticeable.

"Must be Sorted by now, don't you think?"

Harry startles and then hums in response. "Yeah, I'd say they're settling into their dorms as we speak."

Ginny rounds on Harry where he's slouched in an overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace, "Dare I ask what's put that pensive crinkle in your brow?" She sits on the arm and leans over his face a bit.

Harry stiffens. Why did he always have to be so transparent? Ginny narrows her eyes at him and Harry sighs. She must already be putting the pieces together: a glimpse of a particular tall, blond ex-schoolmate earlier in the day and now a sullen sit staring into the flames in his favorite chair...

Ginny moves to stand and crosses her arms, "Harry?" It's an accusation. Harry sighs again.

Seeing Malfoy standing there on the platform... He'd become almost an inanimate object, something ever-present and annoying that one could never truly be rid of. Very like a lamp your in-laws gave you that was so desperately ugly that you covertly tossed it in a skip one night after they'd left, but they still asked after it at every subsequent visit and in the asking make you to feel both frustrated and guilty despite having thought yourself clever in disposing of it. Seeing him again, remembering that he was actually a person and not just some abstract concept to mock, was doing strange things in Harry's chest. He just felt angry, irrationally so, he could tell, but memory after memory of the War welled up and burst in bright, searing light and he couldn't stop the torrent of rage that was threatening to drown him. Much worse than seeing Malfoy's picture in the _Prophet_ was seeing him out and about, as it was a much more vibrant reminder of all the frustration, guilt, and almost unfathomable pain of the War.

"It's just-- He's insufferable!"

"Oh, Harry, for Merlin's sake!" Ginny shuts her eyes and rubs her forehead between her index finger and thumb, "All he did was nod at you. Completely amicably, as far as I could tell. You didn't even speak to one another! I cannot _believe_ you're still so--"

The armchair's legs scoot across the floor with a scrape as Harry stands up like a shot, "He doesn't need to say a fucking thing, Gin! It's--"

Ginny growls and turns around, "I can't talk to you when you're like this! We'll wake Lily!"

"Well, who else am I meant to talk--" Harry lowers his voice abruptly, "Already have done." 

Lily's small figure ambles into the room rubbing at her eyes, "Mum, Da', what's happened?" She yawns, "Is Al all right?"

Ginny crouches down to meet her daughter with a brief hug, "Everything's fine, sweetie. Your dad's just a bit overexcited from the day is all. Come on, I'll tuck you back in." Ginny guides Lily out of the room with a hand on her back, but sees fit to glare over her shoulder at Harry with barely suppressed vitriol and mouth "nice work" before snapping her gaze down to Lily again.

Ginny's back disappears through the doorway and Harry is left to pace the room in peace. Lily's sudden appearance had quieted the Malfoy-induced storm slightly and he'd regained enough composure to feel guilty about his behavior, but only just. He and Ginny had danced to this song many times before and he was getting fed up with the steps. 

Apparently, being married to Harry Potter wasn't as glamorous as the gossip rags made it out to be, and Ginny was fed up, too.

On days like these, when Harry felt like crawling out of his own skin to escape himself, he couldn't blame her. He'd long suspected their marriage wasn't based on much more than Ginny's unsinkable bravado, considering she'd been the one to propose, and on the constant plying of everyone around him, Ron and Hermione most of all. Their relationship was what everyone had expected of him after the War, and he'd been too bone-weary with existing in general to put up much of a fuss. He'd let Ginny's confidence and Ron's reassurance sweep him along for the trip and he'd grown to regret it more than anything. Now their anniversaries were in the double-digits and they had three children.

There was no escape. Harry was a cornered animal surrounded by an army of Ginnys waving torches and shouting for him to fix everything.

 _The War is over, Harry! Why on earth would you_ want _to talk about it?!_

 _Harry, you're a bloody hero! And this isn't how a_ hero _is meant to be getting on!_

_If you say the Dark Lord's name once more, I'm taking the kids over to Auntie Andromeda's and leaving you here to stew! Is that what you want?!_

What Harry wanted was for his own wife to listen to him, to let him get everything out instead of prancing about like it never happened. Over the past decade and a half, Harry had felt his episodes shift slowly from relatively mild to completely overwhelming, and watched Ginny's reactions to them change from concern to pity to frustration to something that now seemed close to outright contempt. He'd tried everything: potions, charms, wizard therapy, Muggle therapy, and even Muggle medicine at Hermione's request. Nothing seemed to substantially reduce his panic attacks, as the Muggle therapist had called them, or his violent mood swings. The only thing that really helped at all was talking to Hermione because she got it, on some level at least. She had been there. She had seen things. She had cried with Harry when their tent had lost a tenant. She had been tortured on the floor of Malfoy Manor. She had seen Malfoy in the Room of Requirement. And actually seeing Malfoy was always the worst of it, bringing up the very darkest of his memories. They hadn't even spoken in years, yet Malfoy could still manage to muck things up for him...

 _Why can't I just let it all go like everyone else managed, give James and Albus and Lily a father who doesn't yell or cry at the drop of a hat, and give Ginny the moniker of "the Chosen One's wife" without all the heartache?_ Harry feels his fingernails digging half-moons into the flesh of his palms and paces faster.

As he clenches and unclenches the fists at his sides, the image of Malfoy and his parents wrapped in tattered prisoner's garb in front of the Wisengamot swims into his mind. Harry had spoken for Malfoy and his mother because he knew they were only doing what they had to to survive and because truly Narcissa had saved his life. Harry couldn't bring himself to do the same for Lucius and he'd been sentenced to life in Azkaban. The glare Malfoy had given him as their verdicts were handed down...pain, regret, fear, outrage, and maybe a hint of relief, all shifting across his pointed features. Harry would never forget it, even after almost 20 years. He shudders and shakes his head to clear the memory.

"We were children. We were _bloody_ children." He punctuates the utterance by sliding back down into the armchair and covering his face in his hands. He peeks between his fingers at the crackling fireplace, and all he can see is a pale hand reaching out to him from the singed arm of a suit jacket. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to scream.


	2. A Parchment for Your Thoughts

Draco flicks the feather end of his quill back and forth through the hair on his chin as he tries to muster a response to his son's first letter home. The task is proving more difficult than anticipated given the circumstances.

The trouble had started not even an hour after dinner on Scorpius' first night at Hogwarts, when Draco had received an owl from one Viconia Parkinson. The letter had hit upon Draco's private fear that Scorpius would shy away from Slytherin on purpose to escape the atrocious shadow Draco had cast on the House during the War. It wasn't so much that Draco wanted Scorpius to be Sorted Slytherin; it was more that he didn't want his past to ruin his son's future. He wanted Scorpius to be Sorted into the house that would be best for him without the biases of anyone else affecting that process, himself included. So when he'd read that Scorpius had been Sorted Ravenclaw and that he'd shared conspiratorial looks with the Headmistress as he was taking his seat, he had immediately drafted a brief, curt note to Scorpius in response under the assumption that Scorpius had, with the help of Minerva McGonagall, purposefully skirted Slytherin to upset him. 

However, as Draco had read the letter that now sat neatly refolded on his desk, Scorpius' heartfelt words made him quite regret sending his first missive. He should have seen through Viconia's obvious gossip-mongering ( _inherited from her mother, of course_ ) and waited for news directly from Scorpius before jumping to conclusions.

Scorpius' letter included an apology for not owling promptly and an impassioned description of how wonderful being a Ravenclaw had been on his first evening, but the most striking bit came in the form of Scorpius' farewell:

> I miss you and Mother terribly, but the homesickness is manageable because I've made an amazing new friend named Albus. I wish he was in Ravenclaw with me, but he seems to like Hufflepuff all the same. We met on the train and he is extraordinarily kind. He cheered me up after the Sorting, and he reminded me that I could not have made the Sorting Hat Sort me where I did not belong. He even helped me write this letter! I hope you write back soon. Please hug Mother for me.
> 
> Love,  
>  Scorpius

His son had not included a last name, but Draco had little doubt that he was referring to none other than Albus Potter, youngest son of Harry Potter.

_Harry Potter..._

"Bleh!" Draco startles himself out of the beginnings of a daydream by accidentally sticking the feather end of the quill in his mouth. He settles himself and smooths the front of his robe for some semblance of recovered dignity before inking the quill and returning to the parchment in front of him. He had begun his previous letter, which had forced an unnecessary apology from his son, with "Dearest Scorpius," so instead he opts for "My Darling Son" to avoid any comparisons between the two messages.

_But what then?_

First and foremost, Draco needed to apologize for listening to Viconia and not trusting Scorpius, but beyond that he was getting too caught up in himself to write. How could he say "I'm so proud of you and Albus for behaving in a nearly opposite fashion from your fathers and supporting one another despite being Sorted into different houses" without sounding like he hated himself too much? How could he eliminate any chance that Scorpius would ever befriend the Weasley child in his year?

As he usually does when trying to address something so dangerously close to his heart, Draco opts for a cool distance from the matters at hand:

> My Darling Son,
> 
> I accept your apology for the tardiness of your letter. I must apologize myself for my impatience and for putting stock in the word of Viconia Parkinson. I know you are a thoughtful, rational young wizard, and I can see now how a place in the House of Ravenclaw could play to your strengths quite well.
> 
> It pleases me to hear that you have enjoyed your first evening at Hogwarts, and that you have already started making connections, especially those as potentially lucrative as the son of Harry Potter. However, I must caution you that associations with the Potters will inevitably lead to associations with the Weasleys, who, by their very nature, are more trouble than they are worth. They are stubborn, obtuse, tactless, and prone to short tempers. Consequently, you would do well to avoid befriending any Weasleys in your time at Hogwarts.
> 
> Know that I am ever proud of you and that your mother and I look forward to the holidays when we will see you in person once again.
> 
> Love always,  
>  Father

Draco reads the letter over once more before folding it carefully and heating the wax for the seal. As he stamps the Malfoy coat of arms into the freshly melted wax, he considers again the juxtaposition of pride and worry that a friendship between Scorpius and Albus represents for him. On the one hand, Scorpius had apparently succeeded where he had failed all those years ago, extending a hand to a young Potter and having it clasped and shaken in return. On the other hand, the name "Harry Potter" now meant something quite different than it had when Draco had first accompanied his trunk to Platform 9 3/4. Now it was "Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley" and even just moments into his less than triumphant first meeting with The Boy Who Lived it had been "Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." For Draco, there was no escaping the blight of Weasley that now wrapped itself around the name Harry Potter in his heart. He had no desire whatsoever for that same blight to encroach upon the name Scorpius Malfoy.

Finished with the letter to Scorpius, Draco's mind shifts to another letter he's been laboring over, a letter he never intends to send. He reaches around the side of his desk and pushes a concealed mechanical switch which reveals a small niche behind a seemingly decorative portion of the desk's façade. He carefully removes the bundle within and unwraps it from its humble canvas sheath. As he leafs through the pile of assorted news clippings, a smile plays on his lips, but now isn't the time for a suppositious stroll through what might have been. Draco pulls a thick roll of parchment from the bundle and flattens the end of it across the surface in front of him. He jots down the date and adds a single line:

> Catching sight of you on the platform yesterday was like spotting the only colorful thing in a world of grey.

He studies the line for a moment and then adds another:

> It seems that nothing, not pain, not war, not even time, will ever dull the brilliance of your luminous green eyes.


	3. Tabletop Confessions: Volume 1

The afternoon after his and Ginny's most recent row, Harry sits down with Hermione to wait for their lunch order in a small deli near the Ministry of Magic. He takes a tentative sip of his coffee and discovers it is too hot to drink, so he dithers by making small talk in favor of getting to the deeper matter at hand.

"So I got a letter from Al earlier today. Looks as though he'll be sleeping kitchens-adjacent for the next seven years."

"Harry, you sly dog! You knew! And I was _so_ sure it would be Slytherin."

"Quit it, Hermione. You thought no such thing. But that brings me to my next point, guess who he's met on the train and is now his best new mate."

"Hm? A Slytherin?" Hermione gasps, "Do you mean-- Could it be he's befriended Scorpius Malfoy?!"

"Ah, but you're only half right. Guess which house Scorpius got himself Sorted to!"

"Harry, if you're stringing me along..." Harry makes a cross over his heart with his finger and Hermione narrows her eyes, "Not Gryffindor, is it?! No, I'm sorry, I don't believe you. Where's the punchline?"

"Okay, okay, yes, not Gryffindor, but not Slytherin either." Harry almost laughs at Hermione's skeptical eyebrow raise. Perhaps he was enjoying all this a bit too much. "He's a Ravenclaw!"

"So you are telling me that Albus and Scorpius found each other on the train, became friends, and got sorted into Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively? Harry, that sounds of utter _rubbish_!"

"But it's all true, if Al's letter is to be believed, and you know he's not one to lie without cause. He'd sooner cut out his tongue than make up a yarn to pull a prank on someone. James' teasing has spoiled him on it, I think."

Hermione blinks and then her pursed lips spread into an excited grin, "Oh, I can't wait to tell Ron! Next we know, Rose'll be in the mix! We should start reading the letters from our children together so you can see his face when it happens!" she smirks into her coffee as Harry coughs a bit on the sip he's just taken of his own. "She was Sorted Gryffindor, by the way."

"I'm sure Ron was pleased." Harry smiles fondly.

"Very much so. She seems to get on with her bunk partners, too. They've all brought cats, so it's bonded them as the 'cat flat,' which I personally find adorable. Crookshanks would be so proud," Hermione's pleasant expression shifts to one of concern, "Not to break up our lighthearted mood, but you led me to believe you had something a bit less fanciful to share with your invite this morning. What's really on your mind?"

Harry grimaces. Their children are a much more enjoyable topic of conversation and he always hates unloading his problems onto Hermione, but there's nothing else for it, "Yeah, that was before I read Al's letter. It's just, last night Ginny and I-- Well, I'm sure you can guess what we fought about..." Harry trails off and Hermione's eyebrows knit together in somber understanding.

"Oh, Harry...but you must have expected to see him."

"I did. I did, yeah. And on some level I expected Ginny not to want to talk about it. But, I don't know, I was hoping for once that she would just sit down beside me and listen. I mean, I hadn't seen him for months! But maybe that just made it all the worse. Maybe she thought I'd be over it and me bringing it up was just a reminder that I'm not and I probably never will be." Harry looks down into his cup, "I saw it again. His arm, reaching out of the fire."

"Oh, Harry."

They both sit in silence for a moment, sipping their coffees and thinking. Hermione finally breaks the tension by leaning in and almost whispering, "A few days ago, I saw her, too. Bellatrix, standing over me. Ron and I were-- Well, you know he's much better about it than Ginny, but having it come up in the bedroom has been a bit hard on him. He always feels so guilty about it, when it's not his fault in the slightest. He...accidentally brushed the scar on my arm and I just...fell apart. And poor Hugo...he heard me screaming and couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. He didn't let on about it until this morning... He spent the whole night suffering because of me." Her eyes are wet as she finishes her story.

Harry meets her gaze and nods in support, "We woke Lily with our shouting. I can't stand feeling like I'm ruining their childhoods. Not when I spent mine in a bloody cupboard. I'm almost glad Al is out of the house. Of course I miss him, but it's one more innocent person out of harm's way." He sighs and tries to start another sentence, but his next thought is interrupted by the waitress dropping off their plates.

Harry takes a generous bite of his sandwich and Hermione offers up another thought as he chews, "I feel the same about Rose. I miss her terribly already, but she'll have a chance to see what life after the War can really be like. She'll see people who've never stunned anyone, or killed anyone, or been scarred by anyone. Something Ron and I can't offer her."

Harry swallows quickly so that he can respond, "But you and Ron are great parents!" He pats his face with a napkin to catch a bit of sauce on his chin, "Sorry, I just can't listen to you say--"

"But so are you, Harry! Albus idolizes you! And James and Lily know you love them more than anything. They know your and Ginny's troubles have nothing to do with them."

Harry leans back in his chair, "I certainly hope you're right. I should tell them more often. Maybe I'll say as much when I write Al back tonight."

"You know, this morning Hugo told me that--" Hermione swallows and her voice thickens, "that he's so glad I'm not dead so that I can be his mum. They know, Harry. And they know we're doing our very best," she blots at her eyes with a napkin and manages a weak smile, "Thanks for listening, by the way."

Harry leans across the small table and kisses Hermione on the cheek, "Same to you, Hermione. You're a bloody godsend."

They spend the rest of their lunch chatting about work and weekend plans, but Harry can feel them both smiling a little easier than when they'd first sat down. How would he manage without Hermione as a sounding board?

He knows the answer immediately. He wouldn't.


	4. Tabletop Confessions: Volume 2

Luna watches mournfully as Ginny's hurricane-like aura ravages the homey quiet of her favorite Muggle tea shop. She instinctively pulls her cardigan more tightly around herself against the barrage. She misses the beautiful cascading light of confidence and joy that had followed Ginny when they were school children. That light was almost out now, and Luna wished desperately to be the one to rekindle it.

But today was not the day. Today was never the day. Harry was her dear and valued friend, and she would never do that to him. And she quite wished he would stop doing it to himself, for both his and Ginny's sake.

Ginny reaches Luna's table and pats the top of her hand in greeting. Luna feels the electric shock of Ginny's barely suppressed anger and sorrow flow through her, but the trickle of something fond alongside the torrent helps to keep a worried frown from Luna's lips and brow.

Ginny slides into the other side of Luna's booth, "Thanks for meeting me on such short notice," she sighs and looks away, "I wish it were under better circumstances." 

"It's no trouble at all," Luna replies brightly. And it's true, spending time with Ginny is never any trouble. Ginny scoffs and takes in a breath to begin a protest, so Luna takes up her hand from the tabletop, "Really. I'm quite pleased to see you, no matter what you plan to share with me about Harry."

Ginny starts and then smiles fondly, "No keeping secrets from you, is there? What gave me away?"

 _Everything._ The thought comes unbeckoned and Luna chides herself for answering a different question than Ginny had intended to ask. The private moments they had shared as DA members, the secret letters they had written to one another while hiding in the months before the War, the tender energy that reached out to her every time they touched, everything tells Luna that Ginny has feelings for her. And she most decidedly returns them.

"It was my aura again, wasn't it?"

Ginny's voice calls Luna back from her recollections. She squeezes Ginny's hand in hers and nods solemnly at the offered suggestion. Yes, of course Ginny's aura spoke of another nasty row with Harry, but more than that Ginny had never managed a visit with Luna without mentioning their difficulties. It would be a safe assumption even if Luna was blind to the torrent of emotional tumult that hung around Ginny as of late.

"So, which blend of herbs and spices does my aura call for today?" Ginny gives Luna a lopsided grin.

Luna taps her cheek and hums. It would be difficult to choose today. No amount of tea was going to solve any of Ginny's complex and deeply-rooted problems with Harry, so best to choose something soothing and fragrant and let the support of a trusted friend do the rest. "I believe I would recommend the lavender, vanilla, and chamomile today. I've also brought some Calming Draught if you'd like."

Ginny's face softens with gratitude, "Luna, you're as lovely as your last name."

Luna beams at the compliment and heads to the counter to order for Ginny. That was their arrangement: Luna would read Ginny's aura and choose a tea for her and Ginny would choose the biscuits to go along with whatever tea Luna decided upon. It reminds her of making tea and baking with her father, and she loves feeling connected to other people through simple, pleasant things like tea and biscuits, Ginny most of all.

Once Ginny has her tea and they have a small plate of edibles between them, Luna decides that Ginny's frustration has waited long enough to be released. She slides her hand across the table and lays it over Ginny's own where it rests next to her mug, and although she already knows the answer, she asks anyway, "What's troubling you?"

"We've had another yelling match. Just last night. Sometimes I just-- It always has to be 'Malfoy this' or 'Voldemort that' or 'I've woken Lily because I thought I saw Sirius in her standing mirror' and--"

"But Ginny, all of those things are still very real for Harry. Seeing ghosts from the past isn't something one can easily control."

"I know, I know that. It's just that he treats me like I was-- Like we were _all_ taking a bloody _vacation_ the whole time. Like what I went through, what Neville went through, what _you_ went through-- I just feel like there isn't any room for non-Chosen One problems in the conversation."

"Perhaps if you offered something, if you were the one to speak first? I'm sure Harry would listen if you were to share a painful memory."

"But he's _Harry Potter_ , Luna. He could have had anyone after the War and he said yes to _me_. I feel like I owe him to keep it to myself until he asks. I just thought things would be different, that he'd be magically healed somehow after killing You-Know-Who and we'd live happily ever after. That we wouldn't _need_ to talk about it anymore because it would've all just disappeared along with the supposed 'Dark Lord' and his Death Eaters."

Luna looks back at Ginny quizzically. She often finds that people who are upset can't put into words what's upset them very well, but hearing Ginny ask for more space for her own problems and refusing to bring them up at the same time was quite contradictory. 

Ginny must hear her silent message, because she bows her head and tangles her fingers in her hair, "Oh, I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Everything is so far past pear-shaped. Pineapple-shaped, at least."

Luna watches silently as Ginny ruffles her hands through her hair and groans. She imagines braiding flowers into Ginny's hair, but keeps the contented smile from her face so as not to appear impolite.

Ginny lifts her head and meets Luna's gaze, "I mean, you were locked in a dank, dark, cold pit under You-Know-Who's feet in Malfoy Manor for months! And you can manage seeing Malfoy without whinging on about it for days after."

"That's not exactly fair, though, is it? Draco, at great risk to himself, would sometimes sneak me morsels of bread or slices of apples, remember? He never said a word, but the gesture itself spoke of the wish for care and kindness in the loneliest possible place. Seeing him is a gentle memory for me, so I've no reason to react the way Harry does. For years, Draco was Harry's greatest rival and closest connection to Voldemort. He spent much of his sixth year following Draco's every move as he plotted to murder Dumbledore, despite you and others discouraging him from doing so. They've quite a different history." 

"But that's just it! Harry ignored me for the War so many times over, and mostly in favor of obsessing over that blond prick," Luna frowns at this, but Ginny continues, "I just want our marriage to be different. There's nothing for Malfoy to be up to no good over at the moment. He's got a son now, for Merlin's sake! So why can't he stop hanging about over our heads like a gaudy chandelier? Is that so much to ask?"

Luna shrugs. She supposes it isn't too much to ask from most anyone...except Harry Potter, of course. "If I recall, the bulk of your pre-war relationship occurred while Harry was keeping an eye on Draco. Perhaps obsessing over Draco is just something Harry sees as a natural part of your post-war marriage?" Ginny looks affronted and Luna realizes that, regardless of how potentially accurate, her educated hypothesis had not been the most considerate thing to share at that precise instant. She waves a hand in surrender and takes it upon herself to quickly change the subject, "Nevermind, I just worry that Harry knows less of how you feel than you might hope. He was never all that skilled in Legilimency, as I recall. Have you at least told Harry that you aren't free of haunting war memories?"

Ginny begins what looks to Luna like a defensive argument and then sighs, "Well, yes and no, I guess. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm asking too much of him lately. You know how thick Harry can be. You can't very well drop hints. It's a spade across the face or he's just not aware," Ginny squeezes Luna's hand, "You're right. I'll talk to him. And I'll try to do it without yelling this time."

Luna smiles, "I know you both care quite fiercely for one another. If you listen closely, I'm sure Harry's words will remind you why you proposed to him in the first place."

"Oh Luna, you truly are the loveliest. Thanks for this," Ginny stands and slots herself into Luna's side of the booth to lean her head on Luna's shoulder, "Really, what would I do without you?"

Luna remains completely still, not trusting herself to move a muscle lest she confess right then and there, "Oh, I'm sure you'd manage. I'm not the Chosen One, after all."


	5. Rain From Another Universe

"Draco, please don't do this again. It's been months and you're running yourself out of plausible excuses."

Draco sits hunched over his desk with his forehead in his hands and his elbows propping him up. He lifts his head when a hopeful thought strikes him, "Can I ask Luna to accompany us, then?" Luna, in her nigh unfathomable kindness, had agreed to join Draco for tea at the Manor on numerous occasions previous. Her presence calms him and keeps him from losing his composure among the remembered atrocities that each room holds.

Astoria lets out a long-suffering sigh, "Draco, I really don't think your mother wants to see Luna today. I think she wants to see her son, and I think she wants to go with her son to visit her husband. Not even I'm invited."

Draco swallows audibly. Visit her husband? In Azkaban? He returns his forehead to resting on his palms. Despite the removal of the dementors, Azkaban remained a wholly dismal place, and Draco was not eager to return, even voluntarily. Right after the trial, Draco had wanted to blame Harry for his father's predicament. However, in the days and months that followed the verdict of a life sentence in Azkaban for the Dark Lord's right-hand man, Draco had realized Harry had done more than anyone should have expected. 

With similarly unfathomable kindness to that of dear Luna, Harry had weighed all of Draco and his mother's complacence and transgressions during their service to the Dark Lord against their comparatively minuscule acts of defiance against his tyranny and found them worthy of a second chance. Draco knew that his father had committed no such acts and Harry had no reason to spare him justice. No, Draco was far beyond blaming his father's current situation on anything other than his father's own choices.

A knife, old and rusty after so long, wrenches suddenly in Draco's heart, "She said it, didn't she?"

Another deep sigh from Astoria, "Oh, Draco...you know she doesn't mean it like that."

"Then how in Merlin's name does she mean it?!"

"Draco..."

"She's been saying it for years and I'm sick of being--"

"Draco."

"--pit against him! 'Oh, well, Harry Potter, with his grand Gryffindorian courage has been for tea, so why won't my darling son--'"

"Draco! For Merlin's sake! She's only saying it because she's desperate! You're her _only son_ , Draco! Her _grown-arsed_ son, need I remind you, and she's desperate for the life we all had before the War! She'd say anything to get you over for tea, whether it was 'Harry Potter's been' or not! Remember, she wanted us to come and live at the Manor after the wedding, so one or two visits from you a year must be torture as it is! Much more so with you acting as though you're on the way to the hangman's noose at every invite!"

Draco groans as he folds his arms on the desk and buries his head between them. He knows full well that Astoria is speaking truth, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating.

Draco feels a gentle hand rub soothing circles along his shoulders, "Look, I'm sorry I raised my voice just now. It's just that she's a lovely woman and I hate to hear the pain in her voice when she asks about you. She loves you, Draco, and she regrets so much. You know she renovated the rooms that were giving you the most trouble and she's had the dungeons bricked over. She just wants to pretend that nothing untoward has ever happened at Malfoy Manor. And that you're still a respected pure-blood family. Please, just give her one day of that fantasy. For me."

Draco can feel his resolve beginning to crumbling at that. Still, it would be his first time traversing the entrance to the Manor completely unaccompanied since the Dark Lord's fall. The last time, Voldemort had met him at the door with a sarcastic, yet wholly threatening, "welcome home, Master Draco" to bestow upon him the dubious honor of beginning his Occlumency training with his Aunt Bellatrix. She'd tortured him for hours, tearing through his mind again and again until he was barely conscious and hyperventilating through his sobs at the assault. It had been startlingly good incentive to be a quick study, not only to stop the horrific torment, but also to protect his most damning secret, his fascination with Harry Potter, from the Dark Lord's discovery. Thankfully, his aunt had the subtlety of an erupting volcano and the frantic walls Draco had been able to throw up in desperation were enough for her to plow on to easier memories during their first "session." And he had made well and truly sure he was capable of much stronger mental barriers at their next. He shudders. Maybe the front door was a poor idea.

Draco almost considers simply Apparating there to avoid the walk, but flinches at the memory of one of Voldemort's grunts foolish enough to Apparate directly inside unannounced. He had screamed and writhed in pain on the floor under Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse for what seemed like hours without anyone so much as batting an eye in protest. Draco shudders again and feels Astoria kneading more thoroughly along his shoulders to relax him. He supposes at least Aunt Bellatrix hadn't tortured him right in the entryway. He sighs. Astoria was right, his mother deserved this. She loved him, and she had done so much for him. The least he could do was take a stroll to the front door of his boyhood home and spend an hour or two alone with her over tea. When he thinks of it like that, the trip doesn't sound quite so all-consumingly terrifying. He sighs and lifts his head fractionally, "Walk me to the gate, then?"

"Of course," Astoria wraps her arms around Draco's neck and kisses his cheek, "and thank you."

~*~

Draco looks over his shoulder at Astoria from the stoop and she waves back to him before Disapparating. He takes a moment to steel himself and hesitantly knocks. The response comes muffled through the door.

"Welcome home, Master Draco."

 _No._ As the door to the Manor swings open, the afternoon light shifts over the threshold in an odd way. Almost as if... _No, it couldn't be!_ Draco freezes. Is he here? Has Voldemort returned again? The shadows shift further as the door continues to swing and Draco could swear he hears Voldemort's hiss-like voice from inside.

"Come along, I've arranged a special surprise for you, courtesy of your dear Auntie Bella."

 _So it was all a dream! All a 20-year-long trick! Mother is probably already lying dead somewhere inside!_ Draco's fight or flight (decidedly flight) reflex kicks in. "No! No! No! No!" Draco scurries backwards and slips on the loose gravel, landing hard on his back with a shout of pain. He realizes he has mere seconds to escape a Side-Along if he Apparates, so he doesn't spare even a moment for recovery. He clambers to standing again so that he can turn and run, as futile as it will ultimately be where the Dark Lord's vengeance is concerned, "I won't go back! I won't! I won't! I won't!" When he slips again and lands on all fours, he knows it's over. He lets himself fall to the ground and curls into the fetal position. He feels tears dribbling down over his nose and across his cheek. Hopefully, Voldemort won't see fit to torture him before finishing the job, "No. No. No. Please, no. Please, no."

Draco momentarily feels as though a version of himself from another universe is being shaken by the shoulder and a familiar voice is asking this other him to stand up and come inside. I could be one of the Manor elves or it could be Harry Potter, Draco can't be sure across such a distance. "I can't get up, Harry. I can't get up. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't..." Draco continues chanting as the voices from the other universe swirl dimly around him.

"Mistress Narcissa! Master Draco has fallen and says that he cannot return to his feet!"

A soft, but hurriedly patter of feet on the gravel, "Hurry, find a way to contact Luna Lovegood! And one of you head over to St. Mungo's straight away!"

"Yes, Mistress!" More frantic footfalls.

A gentle hand might have come to rest against his forehead, "Draco? Oh, Draco, it's your mother. Please speak to me! Draco?"

It might be raining in the other universe, because a few drops break through somehow to land upon his face.


	6. Not Tonight

As Harry steps out onto the pavement from the entryway of his and Ginny's favorite restaurant, he's met with the sight of Draco and Astoria Malfoy walking hand in hand a few meters down the street. Draco'd made the front page of the gossip rags a few weeks past for collapsing outside the Manor and subsequently yelling about Voldemort's return while calling for Harry to come and rescue him from his hospital bed at St. Mungo's, so it was strange to see him out and about so soon after. Then again, the story had been that none other than Luna Lovegood had brought him back to reality, so the whole business was probably a load of shite anyway. Malfoy soon spots him, too, and they both stand blinking at each other for a moment.

Then something strange happens. Malfoy gives Harry the barest semblance of a smile, and Astoria lets go of his hand and gives him a small push on the back that looks as if it's meant to be encouraging. They're too far away for Harry to make out what she says, but her lips form what could be "go on" along with the motion.

Harry freezes mid-movement of fastening his overcoat. What exactly is happening? Is Draco coming over to speak with him? Not a word spoken between them for at least 15 years and now their sons are best mates and...what? Wholly unprepared, Harry is suddenly very aware of his hands. What does he normally do with them?

Ginny's voice carries as she belatedly exits the restaurant still chatting with one of her old Quidditch mates she'd chanced to meet on their way out, "Your daughter's just gorgeous, Laura. Oh, what a lovely picture of the three of you."

Distracted for a moment, Harry looks over his shoulder at Ginny and finds she's thoroughly embroiled in her conversation. When he looks back at Malfoy, he's within arms reach and wearing a menacing sneer.

"Still slumming it with the Weaselette, I see."

Of all the things he expected to hear tumble out of Malfoy's mouth, that certainly wasn't the top of the list and Harry is taken aback. Not that he should be, considering the speaker, but still, "Really, Malfoy? _That's_ what you've come over to say? At the prodding of your wife, no less?" Harry holds up his hand and then counts down on his fingers, "Let's see, you probably haven't heard my voice clearly since I spoke at your trail and I haven't heard yours in longer, I'm not sure where we are on owing each other life debts, we've both got more than a few apologies we could make, the headlines say you were at hospital calling my name to save you from Voldemort just the other week, and our sons are palling around at Hogwarts and _that's_ what you've led out with? 'Still slumming it with the Weaselette'?" Harry mimics Malfoy's snooty syllables and attempts his sneer to mixed results.

Malfoy's face falls into something resembling embarrassment and he looks like he wants to say something, but Harry's can't stop his tirade. It's as if someone's just unlatched the cage on an enormous monster that's been waiting for almost two decades to taste freedom and now there's just no hope of chaining it back up, "And what was I meant to say to that? 'Oi, you're still a fucking cunt of a Slytherin!' 'And how much did your mum have to pay someone to marry you?'"

Malfoy's face hardens at that and he holds up a finger to suggest he'd like Harry to wait for his snappy retort, but Harry's on a roll, "Oh, and you've gone and had enough of Ginny, then, have you? Too much Weasley for you, ah? Then need I remind you that your son's bloody best mate is HALF A WEASLEY HIMSELF!"

Apparently tired of waiting to speak, Malfoy cuts off Harry's next thought by shoving him hard enough to make him stumble a few steps backward, "FUCK YOU, POTTER! Maybe if your little shrew wasn't such a--"

Harry can't take it. He'd let Malfoy take too many liberties walking up him like he'd had something non-prickish to say and he would be damned if he didn't give the git what he was due. Harry lunges for him, fists at the ready, when someone yanks him backward and Apparates them both away.

The trip ends in his kitchen and Harry careens into the counter with the unspent momentum from his halted altercation with Malfoy. Before he can truly get his bearings, Ginny whips him roughly to face her.

"What in the BLOODY FUCK were you thinking?! Tonight?! Of all the possible nights?! Tonight is the night you decide to pick a fight with Draco CUNTING Malfoy?!"

Mind still running to catch up with what had just happened, Harry offers a half-hearted defense, "Well, he called you a--"

Ginny shoves him painfully backward such that the edge of the counter digs into his lower back, "I don't give a FUCK what he was doing, Harry! I do not give ONE. SINGLE. FUCK!" She leans in extremely close to his face and lowers her voice dangerously, "Because tonight was our night. Our _one_ night. We'd planned and planned for a month to have a early dinner tonight and then go shopping for the kids' Christmas things. Or have you already forgotten? Did seeing Malfoy just _wipe_ your bloody brain clean of anything that has to do with me, with your _family_?!" She emphasizes the word "wipe" with a sweeping hand movement just inches in front of Harry's face and then crosses her arms.

Thinking for a moment that Lily must be somewhere nearby listening, Harry tries to calm Ginny down for all their sakes, "Please, Ginny, Lily will hear--"

"Oh for-- NO, she bloody WON'T because we left her with ANDROMEDA TONIGHT!" Ginny turns around and storms across the room with her arms folded and a hand on her chin, "Harry, I'm trying. I really am. I'm trying to be patient and listen when you've got something you'd like to get out about the War, but this is just-- This is beyond patience. Not tonight. Any night but tonight."

"Ginny, I--"

"STOW IT, Harry! I just-- I need some time. This is just--" With that, Ginny shoves tearfully past him off through the dusk-lit doorway out of the kitchen and leaves him standing alone in the gloom.

After taking a few minutes to come down from possibly the worst row he's ever had with his wife, Harry firecalls Andromeda and asks if she could make up another bed for the night.


	7. Fools Rush In

Astoria wears a concerned frown as Draco arrives next to her in their sitting room. "Draco, what was that? You shoved him, and he looked like he was out to hit you!"

Draco shakes his head in frustration and storms toward his study. Astoria follows after him, but he holds up his hand to stop her. She'd done nothing to be frustrated with and he's not sure he can manage discussing it presently without unjustly taking it out on her, "Give me some time."

"Talk later, then?"

"Yes, I promise. I just need a moment to collect my thoughts." Draco shuts the door with a flourish and seats himself at his desk before rummaging for parchment and ink. With quill in hand, he writes the first line of an extremely urgent letter:

> Dearest Scorpius,
> 
> I would ask that you immediately and completely cease all contact with Albus Potter and look to Ravenclaw and Slytherin, especially the latter, for new, more appropriate friendships.  
> 

~*~

"Harry, it's not that I'm not pleased to see you, but it's barely 7:30! Ginny told me you wouldn't be over to collect Lily until 9 at least and now you're asking for a place to sleep? What's gone on over dinner?"

Harry looks balefully over at Andromeda as Lily runs to wrap her arms around his legs.

"Dad! You're early! But where's Mum?"

Harry drops down to give Lily a proper hug, "Your dad's done something very stupid, Lily. Would you mind if Auntie Dromeda and I--"

"Do you think Mum'll forgive you for it?" Lily leans back in Harry's arms and smiles ardently up at him.

"I don't know, sweetie. It's a bit complicated--"

"Did you say you're sorry?" Lily pins him with a solemn glare.

"Well, I--" Harry blinks. He hadn't. Ginny hadn't really given him a chance, but he supposes that's no excuse, "No, I guess I didn't."

"How's Mum gonna forgive you if you haven't said sorry, then?! You should go tell her right now!"

Harry looks over at Andromeda from his crouched position on the floor and she's nodding along with Lily's words. She catches his gaze and points to the floo, "Well, what are you waiting for? I'd listen to your daughter's excellent advice if I were you."

Lily beams up at Andromeda and crosses her arms in a triumphant pose.

Harry kisses Lily's cheek as he rises to standing, "Thanks, Lily. How'd you like to sleep over here tonight as a treat for helping your dad get his head together?" He shoots a questioning glance at Andromeda and she makes an "OK" sign with her fingers.

"Really?!" Lily's eyes twinkle in excitement.

"Absolutely, you've earned it," he ruffles her hair and she breaks into giggles.

"Anyway, I'm off! Wish me luck!" Lily gives him a thumbs up and with his daughter's blessing, Harry's back through the floo and standing next to his fireplace in a flash.

Harry does a quick lap around the house and finds it disappointingly empty of Ginny. Suddenly frantic with the thought that he's missed his window to properly apologize, he does another lap while calling Ginny's name rather loudly into every doorway. When the house again comes up empty, he digs his fingers into his hair, "Oh, where could she have gotten off to?!"

A light bulb flashes on in his head. He'd just been chatting with a certain mutual friend of theirs and heard of her and Ginny's most recent chat over tea that was not-so-subtly hinted to be about him.

"Luna!"


	8. Tea in a Window

Draco and Astoria sit sipping tea together in a bay window that overlooks their garden. Now that he's sent off his letter to Scorpius, Draco feels much more relaxed about the whole business. Maybe if his son stopped fraternizing with the enemy, then he wouldn't feel compelled to either.

Astoria lowers her cup from her lips and clears her throat, "So tell me, Draco, what did you say to him?"

"What makes you think _I'm_ the one who's said something? Why not ask what _he_ said to provoke me into shoving him?"

"Because you're you. Sarcastic insults are your stress response."

Draco's shoulders sag at this, but he has to concede the point. He looks away from her out into the garden, "Yes, all right, perhaps I did set...a bit an insulting tone."

Astoria sighs and sets her cup on the saucer at her lap, "What happened to the bit about feeling charitable around the holidays and 'finally sending the great Harry Potter a Christmas greeting'? I certainly hope that's not what you were doing in your study earlier. Oh, Draco! You weren't, were you?"

"Well, I'd say he's spent my charity on throwing punches, hasn't he? No, I just-- I needed to get a few thoughts down on paper so I could calm down a bit." Draco hesitates to tell Astoria just what he's written because he knows it will upset her. He sighs. Maybe sending the letter to Scorpius straight away after writing it had been a mistake.

Astoria brings him back to the discussion at hand, "But you two haven't spoken to one another in such an incredibly long time and to have it go that way... I know you had some things you'd wanted to say."

Draco cringes at himself, "I did, and Harry even listed them off on his fingers for me after I'd ruined my first go of it," Draco sets his tea aside and raises his hand to simulate the experience for Astoria, "He said something along the lines of 'we haven't spoken in years, we owe each other life debts, we should both apologize for everything, you recently called my name in hospital, and our sons are best mates,' and I led out with 'I still hate your wife.' Iconic." Draco buries his face in his hands, "Bloody iconic."

"And I suppose his arguably warranted boorish retort was the impetus for the shove?"

Draco gazes at her miserably from behind his hands, "Yes, and the shove and my telling him he could fuck right off were the impetus for the fisticuffs."

"Oh, Draco..."

"I know, I'm a bloody fool." _And I need to write another apology letter to our son._

"So why not say something important? Why insult his wife straight away?"

Draco runs his fingers up into his hair. How could he explain this properly without giving too much away? "Because she's... She's just infuriating!"

Astoria gives him a perplexed look.

"I just mean, she's a _Weasley_. She comes from horrendously poor stock, yet she's gone and married the 'Savior of the Wizarding World.' It just doesn't make any sense!"

"What does it matter who Harry Potter's married? That seems like a pretty small detail to get worked up over, especially when he looked beside himself with wonder that you would deign to speak with him in the first place. I think he wanted to speak with you as much as you wanted to speak with him, maybe more."

"Do you really think so?"

Astoria nods and lifts her tea back to her lips to take a sip.

Draco buries his face in his hands again, "Merlin, everyone is falling all over themselves to speak with me and I can't even manage one normal conversation with any one of them. My mother wants a chat and I collapse in a heap on her doorstep. My father wants a chat and it's through three layers of glass and about 30 protective charms. Harry _bloody_ Potter wants a chat and I tell him to fuck off," he lets out a groan, "How can you even stand to be in the same room with me, Tori?"

Astoria sets her tea aside before reaching over and lifting Draco's chin slightly. When he lets his hands fall to his lap she leans in and tenderly kisses him, "You're quite wealthy and ever so posh," Draco sighs as she runs her hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to pull him in for another meeting of lips, "and I suppose I fancy you just a bit."

Draco can't stop a laugh from escaping his lips as they lazily kiss in the window, not because anything is particularly funny, but because he spends so much time feeling pathetic that even a single moment of confidence is pure euphoria.


	9. Narrowly Missed Connections

After a bit of brooding in their bedroom behind a locking charm and no Harry coming to knock, Ginny gets curious as to what he's doing and feels up to leaving the privacy of the room to investigate. "If he's sitting in front of that bloody fireplace again..." she mutters to herself as she unlocks the door and goes off to search.

Ginny heads to the kitchen while searching all the rooms on the way, but finds them all empty of Harry. He's not in his favorite chair. He's not crying into his tea at the sink. He's not taking a cold, hard look at himself in the bathroom mirror.

Ginny narrows her eyes as she spots a bit of errant floo powder on the stonework of the fireplace. _So he's most likely gone off to whinge on about me to my brother and sister-in-law. Lovely. Well, two can play at that game, Harry._ She checks the time. _Not even half seven. A perfect time to pay Luna a visit._

Rather than flooing in unannounced, Ginny Apparates to Luna's front door and gives it a quick rap with her knuckles, "Luna, it's Ginny. Can I come in for a chat?" Hopefully, Luna's just sat with a book or something and she won't be interrupting anything particularly troublesome.

Ginny hears some shuffling behind the door and then a small porthole opens. Luna's eyes flit back and forth over her face and she gasps, "Yes, of course!" the door swings open and Luna ushers her inside, "Please come in! Oh, Ginny, what's happened?!"

Ginny rubs her forehead and looks at the floor, "It's Harry. I mean, when _isn't_ it Harry? And this time he's--" she lifts her gaze and her jaw drops. Apparently, she was indeed interrupting something, because Luna stands casting some gentle drying spells on her hair clad in nothing but an alarmingly purple towel. "I'm sorry, Luna. Do you need a moment to--"

"Yes, just a moment to finish these charms, but then I'll get some tea started. If you leave your hair wet after a bath, you're just asking for Dabberblimps." With that, Luna does one more pass over her hair with her wand and then bustles into her small kitchen with the towel flapping dangerously close to open around her narrow frame.

 _I meant a moment to get dressed._ As Luna's exposed shoulders pass by with her recently dried hair swaying across them, Ginny swallows audibly. She'd been harboring a bit of a crush on Luna ever since their DA days, but had never said anything because she always assumed it would be Hermione and Ron, her and Harry, and Luna and Neville in the end. No reason to break up _two_ happy couples. But with Luna still single and nearly starkers a room away and her and Harry on the rocks, it all seems a bit more blurry than when they were teens. Ginny swallows again and follows hesitantly after Luna into the kitchen.

Before Ginny can even say two words, Luna has a cup of tea extended in her direction, "I apologize as it's nothing special, just spearmint and a spoonful of honey. If I'd known you'd be over I could have--"

Ginny finds Luna's fussing over her as endearing as ever. Her wavy locks falling freely around her face and her bright, inquisitive eyes make Ginny want to lean over and kiss her. She opts instead for reaching over to clasp her arm in reassurance that this tea will do just fine, but as her palm makes contact, Luna lets out a moan and nearly drops the mug in her hand.

Luna spins quickly away and sets the tea on the counter before grabbing onto it for balance, "Please, Ginny, I-- Harry is my friend and we-- Please."

The implication of the moment strikes through Ginny like a bolt of lightning. Luna feels the same. She wants to ask for how long, or why Luna never said anything before, but words fail her. She slowly reaches over and turns Luna by the shoulder to face her. She's shivering, but her skin is warm to the touch. As Luna meets her gaze, her pupils are blown wide and she looks like she's trying her best not to cry out again. It's too much and Ginny feels drawn to her like a magnet. As she leans in, Luna closes her eyes and sighs her name. Just as their lips are about to meet, there's a knock on Luna's front door and they both freeze.

"Luna? Are you home? Do you know where Ginny is? I've gone and tried to punch Malfoy like a complete arse and now I can't find her to apologize."

With the fragile spell broken, Ginny motions for Luna to answer the door and whispers, "I'll Apparate home as soon as he's gone."

Clearly shaken, Luna looks over her shoulder as she walks to the door and Ginny just shrugs, unsure of what else to say or do. Luna haltingly opens the porthole, "Hello, Harry."

"Oh, Luna! Fantastic! I went 'round to that tea shop you mentioned and they were shut for the night, so I'm getting a bit frantic. Have you seen Ginny?"

Luna looks over her shoulder once more and Ginny can see the guilt radiating through her expression, "Yes...um...she's-- Well, she's just gone."

"That bad, is it?"

Ginny watches from behind as Luna's shoulders sag and she nods, "I'm afraid so. Perhaps if you head home now, you'll catch her to apologize?"

Feeling truly ashamed of herself, Ginny decides to leave without saying goodbye to Luna. It will be easier for the both of them. She moves a bit farther back into the kitchen and Apparates to the bathroom so that she can have a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking to Harry. She rests her hands on either side of the sink and looks into the mirror.

_I've just nearly snogged my best friend._

_My_ female _best friend._

 _And I was cross with Harry for nearly_ punching _his worst enemy._

She hangs her head, "What in the bloody fuck am I doing with my life?"

When she hears the crack of Harry's Apparation, she steps out into the hallway and he soon spots her.

"Oh Gin, I'm so sorry!" Harry rushes over and wraps her in a tight hug.

She can feel her eyes burning, "Me, too."

"But you've done nothing to feel guilty over! I deserved the rough handling in the kitchen. Honestly, I was a complete tosser. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you," he kisses her cheek softly and hugs her even tighter against him for a few seconds before loosening the hug and running his hands gently down her back, "In fact, I think it's early enough we could still do the shopping if you're up for it."

Too overcome to stop the tears, Ginny lets out a sob, "Just--just come here," she cups his cheeks and kisses him soundly on the lips.

Harry pulls back and grins, "So you forgive me?"

She wipes at the tears streaking her cheeks, "Yes, of course I forgive you." More tears well up and tumble from Ginny's lower lids as she considers the evening's events and Harry rushes into the bathroom to grab her a tissue.

_But how am I supposed to forgive myself?_


	10. Subterfuge

Astoria offers a polite wave in greeting as Ginny Potter arrives at the café and begins scanning the tables. It's an odd situation, to be sure, but it seemed the only real solution to fulfilling her son's, and most probably some of her husband's, wishes.

Ginny takes a seat across from Astoria and smiles in greeting, but the look in her eyes is a wary one, "So, what's this I hear about a Potter-Malfoy New Year's Eve? Because that sounds a bit past barmy to me, if I'm honest."

"I know. It certainly is out of the ordinary. Thank you for being kind enough to meet me and discuss, considering."

Ginny waves her comment away, "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound so rude. Al sent a letter asking if Scorpius could come and stay with us over break a while back, though he didn't give many details. I'm more curious than anything, really. How did this idea come about?"

"Well, I think mainly because our sons have become such good friends in their first semester at Hogwarts, but," Astoria sighs, "Scorpius has received several-- How should I say this? Several rather discouraging letters from Draco telling him not to cavort with Potters or Weasleys--one prompted by the rather public scuffle our oh-so-mature husbands found themselves in recently--and although Draco has seen fit to apologize to Scorpius since, I think he's still looking for some concrete confirmation that his father truly approves of his associations with Albus."

"But does he approve, truly? It seems to me that M-- Draco isn't Harry's biggest fan, nor mine, for that matter. I could definitely see where Draco wouldn't want our sons to be best mates."

"Well, I know it might surprise you to hear this, but...actually, I think Draco's rather fond of Harry. He just doesn't know quite how to show it properly, given their history."

Ginny drums her fingers against the tabletop and looks up in thought, "Hm, well, maybe if the children are around, Harry will be forced to be civil long enough to find that out," she sighs and shakes her head, "But then again, there are just so many ways for this to go terribly, horribly, childhood-scarringly off. No, I think we've got to call in some reinforcements if there's to be any hope of civility at this theoretical get-together."

"Speaking of that, I was thinking that Luna Lovegood might be a nice addition to the guest list. She and Draco forged some kind of strange bond during...the events of the War and they occasionally chat via floo. She seems to keep him calm in...less than ideal situations. And she's also a friend to you and Harry, as I recall."

Astoria quirks an eyebrow when her conversation partner blanches and looks away. Ginny gives a nervous laugh from across the table, "I...er...I'm sure she has her own plans for New Year's. After all, Luna's single. I don't think she'd much enjoy standing about with old married couples and their children," another obviously nervous laugh, "I was thinking more along the lines of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and of course their children Rose and Hugo. What do you think?"

Setting aside her urge to pry into Ginny's unusual reaction to Luna, Astoria hums and considers the proposal, "That seems a bit stacked against Draco, wouldn't you say? He refers to Harry, Ron, and Hermione as the 'Golden Trio' on occasion, and not in a kind way. He'll already be quite alarmed to find Harry and Ginny Potter waiting for him when we arrive--"

"Wait, are you considering not telling Draco about the party until the moment he's there?"

It's Astoria's turn to blanch. She'd been doing more than considering. _More like counting on, really._ There was simply no way to the phrase the question "how would you like to go to a Potter-Malfoy New Year's Eve affair" and get a positive response from Draco, so that left only mild misdirection and omission of the truth, "Well, I--"

"Because that is a _fantastic_ idea. Oh, why didn't I think of it! Much easier to get them in the room together if they don't know what they're heading into. But all the more reason we're going to need Hermione to be in on the planning. She's got a much better head for these sorts of things than I do. Subterfuge and diplomacy and the like, I mean. And she has a strong moral code. If the intentions are good, I know she'll do her best to take both Harry _and_ Draco into account, despite her golden membership to any miscellaneous trios."

With the meeting going much more smoothly than Astoria had originally anticipated, she hazards the big question, "So do you think... Could we possibly manage this 'Potter-Weasley-Malfoy' business?" She has to laugh at the absurdity of the phrase as it tumbles out of her mouth.

"Well, I'm almost positive we can get everyone to the venue without the world collapsing in on itself. After that, who knows?" Ginny shrugs, "But really, what choice do we have? If our children can get along, why can't we, the bloody grown-arsed people, do as much?"

Astoria laughs again and nods, "I absolutely agree. Speaking of venue, where were you thinking of? I think both our respective homes are probably out. I don't know what Draco would do if there were a whole throng of Potters and Weasleys milling about in our sitting room, but at the same time I think he might consider your or even Ms. Granger's home hostile territory as well." Ginny nods in concession and they both sit thinking for a moment.

As she's trying to imagine a scenario in which Draco doesn't feel wholly threatened by the entire debacle, an unconventional thought strikes Astoria, "Wait, we do have a little hideaway in France, but we don't generally visit it in the winter. It's not much, but at least it will be a familiar place for Draco in the face of the 'Golden Trio.' How do you think your Harry would react?"

"Oh, I don't think it will matter much where we are once Harry spots Draco across the room. And it only seems fair that the venue be yours if the guests are mine," Ginny rubs her chin thoughtfully, "I like it. I really think this could work!"

"Then I believe we've reached an accord," Astoria extends her hand over the table and Ginny shakes it firmly.

"Now then, let's get Hermione in on this as soon as possible. I'll firecall her straight away after we've finished here."

"Wonderful, and I'll go and inspect the cabin, make sure it's up to hosting our group."

As they fall easily into a companionable discussion of hors d'oeuvres and decorations, Astoria feels almost hopeful. _This could work, but really it _must_ work, for Scorpius' sake._


	11. Chateau a la Malfoy

When Ginny finally offers up the Portkey, Harry is already wary. He smells something serious off with the whole thing, not only because Ginny and Hermione refuse to give any significant details about their destination, but also because Ron had taken him aside as he had stepped out of the fireplace at the Weasleys' and said, "Just remember, mate, we're all here to back you up." Whatever this surprise New Year's Eve party ended up entailing, Harry just hoped it wouldn't kill him. Then again, how could it be that dangerous if the kids were coming along?

Hermione ushers him away from his mere worries and toward the reality of his potentially impending doom, "Okay, everyone! Make sure you've got at least a finger on the Portkey! Come on then!" He leans over Albus and lays his palm on the vinyl fabric of the open umbrella in front of them. _Isn't opening an umbrella inside bad luck?_ He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought and clasps his other arm around Albus' shoulders for good measure, more for his own benefit than comforting his son through a Portkey trip.

_As long as there's no chance of meeting Malfoy wherever we're headed, I suppose it could always be worse._

~*~

Draco catches Scorpius beaming at him for what seems like the thousandth time that evening. It's not that he particularly minds seeing his son so seemingly joyful to be in his presence. It's just a bit...unnerving after a while, "What?"

"I'm just so excited! Thank you again, Father!"

"For what? Agreeing to this New Year's Eve trip? We're only going to the holiday home. You've been there before." Scorpius gives another grin that could outshine the sun and Draco pats him gently on the head, "My, but you're easy to please. I'm glad you're so excited."

"Draco? Scorpius? Are you ready to leave?"

Draco sets his book aside and stands up with a brief stretch, "Just coming!" He rests a hand on Scorpius' shoulder, "Well, are you set, then?" Scorpius nods enthusiastically and Draco walks with him out of the room in the direction of Astoria's voice. A nice, relaxing holiday spent away from it all with just his wife and son does sound rather pleasant.

~*~

The groups' arrival at the Portkey's destination is marked with spirited oohs and ahs from the children and mild disbelief from the adults.

"'Mione, I thought you said we were going to a cottage or something. All I'm seeing is a great bloody mansion!"

"Ron! Language! But, yes...our host certainly made it sound like a simple little place. I suppose it's a matter of perspective."

"Okay, everyone, time to explain. What host? Whose perspective? Why are we standing outside this hotel in the middle of the woods?"

"Oh, Harry, come now. You've only got to walk a few more steps through the front door to find out."

"After you, then, Gin. And if this has anything to do with a certain rich blond arse we all know--"

~*~

"Tori? What's all this? Garland? Floating candles? And you've got food on every conceivable surface! I thought this was just a celebration for the three of us!"

"Now, Draco, try not to get too wound up. Scorpius and I only wanted you to--"

The sound of the massive front doors swinging open filters into the parlour and Draco breaks away from the conversation to investigate as a growing dread sets his heart beating faster. _What. Is. Happening?_ He skids to a stop in the entryway just in time for the vaulted ceiling to resonate with the echos of a familiar, yet unbelievable voice.

"--I will be a bit past upset. And I had better truly love this surprise after the grief you've put me through for it. I'm half-expecting to see Malfoy standing there like a deer in the--"

 _No,_ this _cannot be what's happening._ Draco is left staring between a stony-faced Harry Potter, an obviously nervous pile of Weasleys and Weasley derivatives, and his wife with her hands held up silently in prayer at him. Then he hears his son's plaintive voice as just a whisper.

"Mother, you didn't tell him Albus was coming?"

Remembering all of Scorpius' overjoyed gazes in his direction and how obviously excited he was for this ( _altogether nightmarish_ ) moment, Draco summons up what little hospitality he can manage for his son's sake. He slaps on possibly the most forced remotely-smiling face he has ever worn and greets the newcomers with a halting, unashamedly livid lilt, "Welcome to our New Year's Eve celebrations."

~*~

Harry has not said a single word since seeing Malfoy. He is so absolutely furious with every single person above the age of 18 on the premises that he feels he will simply spontaneously combust should he open his mouth. He attempts to meet each plea for amnesty with nothing more than a shake of his head.

"Harry, the women, they swore me to secrecy, mate. And that Astoria is right lovely if you give her a chance. She really loves that little Malfoy clone, you know? And Hermione said--"

*head shake*

"Oh, Harry. I just thought that with everything you've told me, this might be a nice second chance for you to get some of the important things out. Trust me, I was completely against it when Ginny first explained the idea of a Potter-Weasley-Malfoy party--"

*head shake*

"Please, can you do this for Al? He's been so completely over the moon about this whole Potter-Weasley-Malfoy--"

Harry begins to shake his head, but he can't keep quiet any longer. He yanks Ginny by the arm out of the room and finds a secluded alcove for a quick row out of earshot of the Albus and the others. His frustration comes out as a harsh whisper, "Will you stop putting the last names together like it's all some bloody cosmic alignment or some such? And if this is for the children, then what's the need for Malfoy and me to even be here? If you and Ron and Hermione love Astoria so much, why couldn't you've just brought the children around to this ridiculous 'Chateau a la Malfoy' without us?"

"Harry, I--"

Not actually interested in hearing any answers to his questions, Harry continues as if he were uninterrupted, "You and Hermione I expected this from, but Ron, too? What, have you got him Imperiused? I mean honestly-- You know what? Nevermind. I don't care. I'm leaving. Say goodbye to Albus for me, and make sure to tell him it's nothing to do with him."

With that, Harry quickly makes up his mind that the Three Broomsticks will be one of the last places anyone would look for him and Apparates for a nice private sulk.

~*~

Draco stands with his arms crossed next to Astoria as he attempts to nonchalantly survey the party proceedings. He spots Scorpius and the young Weasley girl laughing together and must concentrate on not immediately scowling at the scene. He puts forth a question to Astoria without turning to face her, "Why?"

"Scorpius wanted to see his friends over the break."

"And you decided that I simply must bear witness to this spectacle? Couldn't you have gone without me?"

"I thought Scorpius would appreciate your in-person support for his new friendships after the letters you've been sending him."

Draco huffs at the idea. He'd apologized for the letters he'd regretted, but the one about not befriending Weasleys was not one of those. He certainly didn't feel the need to-- "Astoria, he's holding her hand!" Draco rasps out in sheer horror.

Scorpius leads Rose across the room by the hand to where the Potter boys stand examining a bookshelf.

"Oh, Draco, they're just--"

Draco holds up his hand for silence and pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting. He scans the room. Weasley is stuffing his mouth with bacon-wrapped dates served on a platter that was a wedding gift from his mother while Granger chides him for his oafish manners. The youngest Potter and Weasley sit bouncing together on a divan that is probably worth more than all of the latter's family's belongings combined. The other four children stand flipping through books that have been in his family for quintuple their combined ages, at least. Harry and the Weaselette are conspicuously absent. The blood drains from Draco's face when he realizes why that might be and wonders how many treasured family heirlooms will have to be thrown out in the wake of their...activities.

"No, I simply cannot watch any more of this absolute torture. I need a moment. Make sure none of these buffoons break anything while I'm gone, and please find Mrs Potter and ask her to leave immediately, regardless of how little clothing she may be wearing."

With that, Draco quickly makes up his mind that the Three Broomsticks will be one of the last places anyone would look for him and Apparates for a nice private sulk.


	12. Wand Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a neat song that goes well with this chapter: [The Tide by The Submarines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZTsAcZh2As)

As soon as Harry appears at the Three Broomsticks, he spots Malfoy across the room like some kind of fuming ghost haunting his every move. _For Merlin's sake!_ Malfoy spots him in turn and they both point at one another and shout in near unison, "This is your fault!"

Harry can't help himself but to hurl insults Malfoy's way and Malfoy responds in kind.

"I can't stand you, you utter prick--"

"Your Weasleys certainly have a knack--"

"--and your goatee looks absolutely atrocious, like--"

"--for ruining literally _everything_ , and there you are--"

"--some horrible pet of Hagrid's died on your pointy face!"

"--sulking like it's all my fault for even existing in the first place!"

A sharp thunk against the bar breaks them out of their shouting match, "Oi! Yeah, you two! Get out o' me bar! Yer muckin' up the atmosphere!" The barkeep ushers them out into the snow with several sweeping motions of his massive arms and slams the door behind them to muffled cheering from inside.

Harry stands shocked by the cold winter air for a moment, but a rustle beside him snaps him back to the present. He has a 20-year-old fight to win. In one swift movement, he draws his wand and sends a Stupefy in Malfoy's general direction as he narrowly dodges Malfoy's own Expelliarmus. They circle one another, casting spell after spell, until they've both taken to crouching for cover behind discarded rubbish in a nearby alley. 

As a red shot of light sails over his head, Harry has an odd thought. He's missed this. He'd had to quit the Aurors because every assignment brought up memory after painful memory and his tendency to panic and freeze was a danger to his partners. He'd had to quit teaching because he couldn't concentrate to even deliver a coherent Defense of the Dark Arts lecture, much less produce a Patronus, when every student question contained some reference to his confrontation with Voldemort. In fact, all he was good for anymore was slipping into obscurity behind mountains of paperwork in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. But here he was dueling Draco Malfoy in some freezing alley in the middle of the night and loving every second of it. With a surge of confidence, he leaps out from behind cover.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry stares in awe as his stag emerges from the tip of his wand and gallops toward a clearly startled Malfoy and then off into the night air. He gazes blearily over at Malfoy and gives him a lopsided grin, but the return of Malfoy's resolute expression reminds him that this is no time for standing about and feeling pleased with oneself. Harry raises his wand and lets an Expelliarmus fly at nearly the exact instant that Malfoy has the same idea. The spells collide midair, sending both Harry's and Malfoy's wands clattering against the nearby building and into the rubbish and snow at their feet.

They stand grimacing at one another until Harry, quicker on the draw, lunges forward and catches Malfoy across the jaw with a well-placed right hook. Stunned, Malfoy stumbles backward, but recovers with a vicious jab to Harry's stomach that doubles him over slightly. Malfoy goes in for another punch, but Harry catches his fist just centimeters from impacting his face and straightens back up. He starts to swing for a shot to Malfoy's rib cage, but Malfoy catches his forearm before he can make contact. They stand struggling against each other's grips, and as Malfoy practically snarls at him through pants of exertion, Harry takes the opportunity for a bit of ribbing between his own labored breaths, "You're still quite strong for such an underfed little ponce," he smiles to himself, "I've _really_ missed this."

Malfoy gives him a quizzical look and Harry realizes he hadn't really meant to say the last bit. In the aftermath of letting the sentiment slip out unbidden, Harry hesitates just long for Malfoy to pull ahead in the tug of war and shove him up against the stone wall behind them. Harry groans as the back of his head impacts the hard surface. Before he can shake off the daze, Malfoy has him pinned by the biceps with his hands capable of little more than slapping ineffectually at Malfoy's shoulders. Harry feels Malfoy's knee slot in precariously close to his groin and he frowns. Looks like he's lost this one. He squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself for whatever finishing move Malfoy is about to execute.

The painful grip on Harry's left arm disappears and he instinctively tilts his chin away from the punch he's sure is coming. He flinches as something makes contact with the side of his neck, but then Malfoy's hand is sliding into his hair and Malfoy's panted breath is rushing across his lips. Harry's eyes shoot open in astonishment and he's met with Malfoy staring back at him through hooded lids and dilated pupils. Malfoy pulls his face forward the last few centimeters and presses their bodies flush as their lips meet in a desperately inelegant kiss.

Before his mind can kick into gear processing all the ways in which such a situation is so completely wrong to be happening, Harry's adrenaline from the fight carries him a fair way to reciprocating. He lets out a deep moan and deepens the kiss, to which Malfoy responds by sighing Harry's first name against his lips and grinding their hips together.

The feeling of something hard pressing against his own stiffening prick wakes Harry from his adrenaline-fueled reverie and he shoves Malfoy impetuously away. Overbalanced, Malfoy stumbles and falls on his arse in the snow. As Harry swipes his wrist across his mouth, there are simply too many questions welling up inside him to choose just one, so he starts several, "What-- Why are-- This is-- Malfoy?!" 

Malfoy stares up at Harry with wide eyes. He looks...absolutely devastated in a way that makes Harry soften his expression and like he has just as many questions for himself as Harry does. He scrabbles backwards away from Harry like a crab until his hand apparently drags over a wand. He whips it up into the air, inspects it just long enough to ascertain that it is indeed his, and then promptly Disapparates, leaving in his wake a very confused Harry. 

Harry slides down the wall and coughs with sudden awareness of just how bloody cold the air he's panting into his lungs is. As he kneels on the ground and gropes around in the snow for his wand, he can't help but mutter to himself in disbelief.

"What the bloody _fuck_ , Malfoy?"


	13. Uncle Ron's Wisdom

With a full plate in one hand and a drink in the other, Ron looks around for a place to sit and tuck in. The small table he'd been using as a dining spot is now occupied by Albus and Ginny speaking in hushed tones. He sighs in acquiescence, since talking about your dad's/husband's embargo on the whole Potter-Weasley-Malfoy New Year's scheme is probably a bit more important than eating, but only a bit. Seeing no other adults, he remembers that Hermione and Astoria are probably still in the kitchen, having gone off to make something warm and soothing to drink for the children. He almost heads off in their direction to ask for a cuppa himself, but the glass in his hand sloshes slightly as he turns. _Oh, right, already got myself something._

Still in need of a place to sit, Ron looks to the overstuffed couch, but finds Rose, Scorpius, Lily, and Hugo sitting there shoulder to shoulder. _Quite a motley crew_ , Ron smirks to himself. Scorpius is still hiccoughing against Rose's chest and both Rose and Lily are patting him softly on the back from opposite sides. Ron supposes he should be upset that his only daughter is snuggling with an arm around a Malfoy, but he can't quite manage it. With Draco Malfoy for a father, the kid could probably use every scrap of affection he could get. 

Ron shrugs and sets his drink back down on the counter where he had initially picked it up. Standing next to the food to eat wasn't the worst thing, really. Easier access, after all. As he shoves a few morsels into his mouth from his plate, he feels a tap on his upper arm.

"Uncle Ron?"

Startled, Ron swallows the mouthful of finger sandwich and turns around to face a forlorn looking James behind him, "Hm?"

"How come you-- Why would you let Aunt 'Mione help plan this party? And why aren't you angry like Dad is? Mr Malfoy was a dickhead to you, too, wasn't he?"

Ron had always gotten on best with the eldest of the Potter kids and they had a certain "if you won't, I won't" agreement about ratting one another out for their language. Ron scans the room to make sure his wife is still out of earshot and smirks back at James, "Too right he was a fucking _bastard_!" James smirks back and nods as Ron continues, "But honestly, that was years ago. Nowadays...he's more pitiful than anything. You've seen him in the _Quibbler_ , yeah?" James nods again, "Well, bit barmy to stay mad when you've got a brilliant wife and kids and you're a bloody Auror and he's just a toff with an arranged marriage who makes the papers ever few months for embarrassing himself, isn't it?"

James shrugs, "Still, he was a Death Eater, wasn't he?"

"You aren't wrong, but remember who told the Wizengamot to piss off about it? It was none other than your dad. Malfoy and his mum both would be locked up next to ol' Lucy in Azkaban without a pardon from the 'Chosen One.'"

"But didn't he try to kill you? Multiple times? And then Fred--"

Ron stiffens slightly at his dead brother's name, but refuses to let it get the better of him. He's past this. "Voldemort killed Fred, not Malfoy. That noseless cunt did a lot of terrible things and forced a lot of people to do terrible things for him. The ones that enjoyed it are rotting in a cell and the ones that just got caught up in it," Ron sighs, "well, that's wizards like Draco Malfoy."

"I don't think it's worked, though. They've both left without saying a word to one another."

It's Ron's turn to shrug, "Yeah, well, wherever they are, I kind of hope they're in the same place dueling it out. Can't tell anyone I told you, but your dad is sending your mum 'round the twist about Malfoy these days. I hope they've both gone and Stupefied each other out on the stoop and gotten it over and done with, honestly."

James crosses his arms and tilts his chin up a bit, "You know, I don't care what Mum says. You're really wise, Uncle Ron. I can see why you and Dad got on at Hogwarts, 'cause he isn't nearly as wise as you."

Ron sets his plate down and ruffles James' hair. Yep, definitely his favorite Potter kid. "Hey, you said it, not me." They both smirk at each other and then Ron claps James on the shoulder, "What's say we go snooping a bit, see if we can dig up some embarrassing snaps of Malfoy as a little baby tosser instead of a fully grown one?"

As he and James head off on their mission, Ron spares a moment to send Harry a mental message, _Hope you and Malfoy kiss and make up, mate. These kids sure as Merlin deserve it._


	14. Magic Tea and Sympathy

Hermione sighs as she sets aside her book and looks over at her now-tepid cup of tea. Not particularly surprising, since she'd brewed it hours ago just after Ron and the kids had gone to bed. She'd hoped that somehow, by the time she had finished the cup, Harry would have reappeared and Ginny would have sent word, but of course that hadn't happened. "You can't magic someone home with tea," she mutters to herself, "Not nearly as effective as heading to the loo in a restaurant when you want your dinner to arrive." She looks over at her tea once more and shakes her head, "Oh, Harry...where are you?" With a wave of her wand, a swirl of steam rises from the last few swallows and she lifts the cup to her lips. Without warning, Harry's face appears in the fireplace and she promptly chokes in surprise on the tea she'd just sipped.

"Hermione! Thank Merlin you're awake. Can I come through?" Harry's voice, only slightly above a whisper, sounds shaken and unsure.

Still coughing, Hermione waves Harry in. After one more guttural cough, she clears her throat, "Harry, you're welcome to come in, but honestly, what on earth are you doing here? It's past four in the morning! I'm only up because I've been too concerned about you to--" The realization dawning, she pins him with a bellicose glare, "Wait, have you been home yet?! Ginny was absolutely _distraught_ last I saw her and Albus--"

Harry makes a shushing sound as he advances on her and grabs her by the wrists, causing her cup to rattle on its saucer. He continues in the same distressed whisper, "No, Hermione, listen. I need you to hear me out before I even think of speaking with Ginny. Is Ron awake?"

Hermione shakes her head, "He was out minutes after Hugo and Rose once we got back, somewhere around half twelve."

"Brilliant," he draws his wand and casts a quick Muffliato, "And can you promise me that you won't repeat what I'm about to tell you to another living soul?" 

The earnestness of Harry's plea cranks Hermione's worry level back up from where it had dropped after seeing that he was alive and seemingly unharmed, "I--of course, Harry." She sets the remnants of her tea down and ushers him to sit across from her, "Now, what's happened that you can't go home first?"

Harry swallows audibly and stares down at his hands as he laboriously wrings them. He leans a bit forward and sucks in a breath before launching into a rapid string of nearly unintelligible syllables, of which Hermione catches "Three-Broomsticks-and-Malfoy-was-there," "dueling-in-the-snow," "Expelliarmus-and-I-punched-him," "kissed-me," and, as his speech evens out, "And I spent the last few hours wandering around in the cold without my coat trying to figure it all out."

Hermione blinks. She blinks again. She blinks a third time, but the additional time to process Harry's words just isn't helping. She shakes her head, "I'm sorry, but what did you just say?"

Harry clears his throat, "I said I spent the last few hours--"

"No, yes, I heard that much. Just before that." Hermione would really like to hear the entire story again at a much slower pace, but she's particularly interested in the part where she was quite sure she'd heard the words "kissed me" intermingled in Harry's babbling.

Harry clears his throat, gaze still fixed firmly on his hands in front of him, "That I've just dueled Malfoy in an alley outside the Three Broomsticks?"

Hermione sighs. Harry's tone implies that he might regret starting this conversation and divulging certain kissing-related information, but she's too invested to let him off the hook, "Harry, I think you know what I'd like you to repeat."

Harry's eyes dart toward the fireplace, probably wishing he could floo off back to wherever he had been just prior. _Perhaps Hagrid's hut_ , Hermione thinks, trying to piece together the sequence of events. 

"I said...," Harry hesitates by forcing a cough and then drops his voice to a murmur, "that Malfoy shoved me up against a wall and kissed me--" he lets out a strangled whine and finally meets Hermione's eyes, "Oh, 'Mione, what am I meant to do?"

As with many of the things Harry has told her over the years, Hermione finds it mildly difficult to believe him on the first go around. She clears her throat against both the urges to laugh and to yell and folds her hands neatly in her lap, "So, what you're telling me is that you and Malfoy both left the party at nearly the same time and, despite the incredible odds against it, both chose the Three Broomsticks, of _all_ places, as your destination--"

"Well, I--"

Hermione holds up a hand for silence, "--and that you subsequently had a row that turned duel that turned fist fight out in the snowy streets of Hogsmeade--"

"It's just--"

"--and that Malfoy, _Draco Malfoy_ , your boyhood rival whom you've not had a proper conversation with in possibly all the time you've known him, finished you off with a kiss?"

Harry lets out another small whine and buries his face in his hands, "What am I going to do?"

Hermione pats Harry's forearm affectionately with a smile on her lips, "I think you're going to tell Ron that story in full, glorious detail right now, because it is absolutely marvelous! We haven't got work today, so just let me go wake him and I'll be right--"

Harry grabs her wrist as she moves to stand, "What?! No! Hermione! This isn't a joke! I'm not having you on about any of it!"

"I know, Harry! But what's so awful about your story? Yes, you've fought with Malfoy again and I'm sure Ginny will be rather upset, but who could have predicted that you'd both Apparate to the Three Broomsticks and end up dueling each other in Hogsmeade on New Year's? And with the surprise twist ending, you come up sounding rather blameless in the whole thing. I mean, it's not as though you've kissed Malfoy back or anything." Hermione hazards a glance in Harry's direction while trying not to laugh. She expects him to have cheered slightly at her reassurances, but he's looking more distraught than he had when he stepped out of the fireplace and his cheeks have colored slightly. She realizes if that was all there was to it, Harry likely would have Apparated straight back to the party and yelled at her, Ron, and Ginny for planning such an ill-fated event, not wandered around in the snow for hours trying to decide what to do and landing on a surreptitious chat with her in the middle of the night. She narrows her eyes, "Harry, what aren't you telling me?"

Harry ruffles his hands through his hair and then starts wringing them again, "It's just-- I don't know. I don't know! It's just one minute we're fighting and the next he's kissing me and what--" Harry stops wringing his hands in favor of clenching them so that his knuckles show out white against the rest of his skin, "What in Merlin's name am I going to do, Hermione?"

Since this little outburst has answered exactly zero of Hermione's many questions, she presses him again, "I'm still not sure what all the fuss is about. What's upsetting you? It sounds like you got a few well-deserved punches in on Malfoy and he's rather shown his hand in a way that could keep Ron in stitches for the rest of his life. I'd say it sounds like a night well spent. I'm sure if you just explain to Ginny that you've gotten it out of your system now and you promise not to do it again--"

Harry stiffens, "That's the thing, though, 'Mione, I'd like to do it all again right now! That's the problem! I loved every second of it--"

 _Harry's kissed him back!_ Hermione claps her hand to her mouth and gasps at the realization. _Malfoy kissed him and Harry enjoyed it. And he's not sure if he wants it to happen again. And he's terrified of what that means._ Frankly, _she's_ terrified of what it could mean as her mind shoots off on 100 different tangents of imagined futures. She rests her elbows on the arms of her chair and leans toward him with a hand on each cheek, "Oh, Harry. You've gone and enjoyed kissing him, haven't you?"

Harry's face colors again and he groans, "I don't know. I mean, we were both so wound up from dueling..." He returns his face to his hands and mutters miserably through his fingers, "It's just, he moaned my name, my _first_ name, like it was the most wonderful thing he could think of, and he's a _bloody_ good kisser, and I could feel-- He had me backed up against a wall and he was so close. I could feel," Harry's throat bobs with an audible gulp, "everything. I don't know if I enjoyed it. I don't know anything anymore. I most of all don't know what to do about not knowing what to do!" Harry lets out another pathetic whine, "Merlin, why'd he have to kiss me?" 

"Well, maybe it was just the adrenaline, then? The relief of a duel long overdue that's finally come to fruition?" Hermione tries desperately to explain it all away for Harry, but she can feel how forced it sounds compared to the other theory that's developing in her mind.

"Maybe," Harry sighs and looks up slightly.

"And it's not as if you've spent the last few hours planning a split with Ginny for him...have you?" Hermione adds the last bit with no small amount of trepidation. Perhaps she doesn't want to hear the answer.

Harry shakes his head, "No, no, of course not." He huffs a breath and seems to grow more confident for a moment at finally having a definite answer to one of Hermione's questions. Then a pained expression crosses his face, "But what if I should have done?"

Hermione's eyes widen and she starts to protest that she didn't mean it like that, but Harry ignores her and plows ahead.

"After all, you know as well as I do that Ginny and I, we're not great, and we haven't been since the Battle of Hogwarts if I'm honest. It's always a row with her, and not just about Malfoy, but about anything to do with the War. And no matter how many times we apologize and promise we'll do better next time, I'm still a mess and she's still sick of it, and I've tried fix after fix with nothing so much as making a dent. And now, I finally, _finally_ find something that makes me feel a bit less lost and fucked up, and it has to be the _one thing_ that will have Ginny so far round the twist-- Maybe we _should_ split up."

 _What have I done?_ Hermione shakes her head frantically and starts to speak again, but Harry continues.

"But who's to say that Malfoy would even understand? How would I even explain it to him? 'Oi, Malfoy, I felt more alive and myself dueling you than I have since I found out I was a bloody wizard when I was 11 and I'd like to do it again sometime. How's your Tuesday?' Plus, why would he want to help me in the first place? Assuming the kiss was just adrenaline as you said, he still hates the lot of us! No, a split with Ginny to start some--some war-survivor nemeses fight club or some such with Malfoy? It's rubbish. And I can't do that to the kids."

At the mention of children, Hermione stills. If this night was anything to go by, their children had started something inevitable between Harry and Malfoy by befriending each other. This would not be the last foolhardy juxtaposition of Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy their children would clamor for. This would not be the last row with or about Malfoy in Harry and Ginny's future. In fact, Harry's vague desire to do whatever it was again made it all the worse. If she thought of it that way, maybe getting a divorce was actually the only possible course of action if one was truly thinking of the children. She refocuses her gaze and finds Harry staring hopefully over at her as though he's reached a decision. She anxiously locks eyes with him, knowing that she's come to the opposite conclusion, "Harry, I--I think you're right."

"Yeah, thanks for--"

"You and Ginny should get a divorce."

Harry straightens up in his seat and his eyebrows knit together, "What?"

"I think, if you really consider what's best for Lily and James and especially Albus, it's the only rational thing to do."

"But-- What? But what about-- But wouldn't it all be weird for Ron?"

Hermione rolls her eyes. _Of course his mind goes straight to Ron over Ginny. Case in point._ "Harry, get a grip! It's already weird! You snogged Malfoy in an alley after fighting with Ginny _about_ Malfoy and fighting with Malfoy about _himself_! And you want to do it again, perhaps sans snogging, but I get the feeling you wouldn't mind even if the snogging was mandatory! _And_ you're more worried about upsetting your best friend turned brother-in-law than your own wife! For Merlin's sake, Harry... What about that isn't weird to you, no matter if you're divorced or not?"

Harry blinks and leans back in his seat, staring blankly through Hermione across the room, "I--I should go."

"Harry, wait! I'm sorry, that was harsh of me. I didn't mean--"

Harry disappears with a crack and Hermione is left alone with her thoughts in the strange, lingering drone of his Muffliato.

~*~

Harry has to leave. For once he feels wholly unassuaged after speaking with Hermione. In fact, he actually feels worse than when he'd arrived, even more uneasy about literally everything. His anxiety builds until he can hear faint screams echoing through ancient magical halls and he attempts to blink them away with some success. He suddenly has a fierce need to see his children, to remind himself that they are real and alive and safe now that the War is over, because he chose to live and because Ginny chose him, "I--I should go."

"Harry, wait! I'm sorry--"

The rest of Hermione's plea is lost as Harry Apparates home. Not wanting to wake anyone, he decides to land in the kitchen and finds it empty as he'd expected. As he makes his way toward the bedrooms, he passes by the sitting room and finds it decidedly more occupied. Ginny sits with her chin on her chest in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace with a gently snoring Lily draped across her lap. James is sprawled out on an overstuffed chaise and Albus has made a nest in a large cushion in the middle of the floor. They're all safe. Harry sighs, _Everything is fine_. Then he shakes the thought away, _No it's not, and I can't ignore how not fine it is any longer_.

Harry slips off his trainers and pads quietly over to Ginny. He rests a hand on her shoulder and leans down to kiss her on the cheek. She startles awake and looks up at him blearily, "Oh, Harry, you're home," she runs a hand over her face, "I wanted to wait for you and then the kids, well," she looks around at them and Lily stirs slightly on her lap as she shifts, "they waited, too. I'm really sorry, I shouldn't've--"

The scene warms Harry from the inside out and he knows what he has to do, for all of them. He puts a finger to her lips and keeps his voice soft and soothing, "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come home and that I'm such a prat all the time. I think it's time I stop being so stubborn and try it."

Ginny looks up at him in confusion as Lily starts to lazily rub at her eyes, "Try what?"

"What you asked me to try a while back after I saw the Muggle therapist. Hermione called it 'couples counseling,' I think?"

"Oh, Harry, really?!" Ginny throws her arms around his neck, waking Lily up properly.

"Dad's home!" Lily shouts as she grabs at his torso to join the hug.

James and Albus jump up at Lily's shrill cry and rush over to the rest of the family. Harry feels the impacts as they add themselves to the pileup and he smiles against Ginny's cheek. She snuggles against him and he whispers, "Yeah, I'll try it, for us," he pulls back and kisses her chastely before attempting to get all four of them into his arms, "for all of us."


	15. No Tea in a Window

Draco and Astoria sit in their favorite bay window, but neither of them wears a smile as they stare blankly out across their garden. Things in the Malfoy household haven't been the same since New Year's. Everything feels stilted, curt, cold. Scorpius had taken days to get over not speaking to his mother over her involvement in the deception, and Draco knows he must tell Astoria the full story of how his night ended if anything is to improve. He takes a steadying breath and Astoria looks over at him.

"Is everything alright, Draco? You've seemed tense all day."

Indeed, Draco's neck and shoulders are stiff from worry about this very moment, "I need to tell you something. It's about New Year's Eve."

Astoria turns more fully toward him and rests a hand on his knee, "I know, Draco. Go ahead."

Draco is taken aback by her response until he remembers that he'd ask her to meet him here for a discussion. She must have simply divined that the discussion was likely to involve New Year's Eve. Still, the surety in her voice puts him further on edge, "I've told you that Harry Potter and I dueled and he was the one responsible for my split lip and bruised jaw--" Astoria nods sagely, as though she knows exactly what he plans to say next. How could she, though? No one would have predicted what happened afterward. With a nervous energy that he feels is almost visibly hanging around him, he continues, "--and I said--that he shoved me away and--and I took the opportunity to Disapparate to my study. Well, I've--I've left out a vital piece of information."

Astoria squeezes his knee, "It's alright, Draco. I know. You don't have to say it out loud if it's causing you this much stress."

"You...know?" Draco is still sure she doesn't, but perhaps what she thinks she knows will be easier to stomach than the truth.

Astoria folds her hands in her lap and looks down at them as she slowly slides her thumbs over one another, "Draco, let me tell you a story instead. Months ago, I found a clipping from the _Prophet_ underneath your pillow. The words hadn't made sense and I'd thought it relatively meaningless, some errant slip of paper the house elves missed. Until I flipped it over to find that the little rectangle of seemingly random words was actually the back of a picture. A young Harry Potter speaking at a podium with a wand to his throat. Still, I hadn't thought deeply about it and just returned it to its place. I assumed the speech must have had some meaning to you, maybe the one he'd given after speaking for you and your mother at your trials. And then--" Astoria shakes her head and looks up from her lap for a fleeting moment.

Draco tries to keep his face calm. Where was this going? Astoria sounded as though she was just getting started.

"And then, when I'd heard you in your study and cut through all your wards to rush in--after you'd been missing for almost 24 hours, mind! Well, you must have been a bit careless in surprise because--" Astoria looks up again, "Forgive me, Draco, but it hadn't closed properly, and I was furious with you for locking yourself away. It's just-- Neither Scorpius nor I had been able to sleep for worry, and here you were sat at your--your bloody desk of solitude!"

Draco's eyes are growing wider with each passing moment. He starts to rise from his seat. He wants to run, to Apparate to the farthest point of light in the sky and never return, "What are you saying, Tori? Are you saying--"

Astoria holds up her hand for quiet and Draco sits back down. Astoria continues as Draco's terror builds at what she is about to say, "After I'd shouted at you to tell your son you hadn't gone and died and you'd pushed past me out the door, I-- A small bit of canvas had kept the compartment open and-- I read it, Draco. All of it."

 _No._ The humiliation twists and writhes like poison surging through Draco's veins. He wraps his arms around himself and grinds his teeth as Astoria's words cycle on repeat in his mind, _I read it, Draco. All of it. I read it, Draco. All of it._

When Astoria next speaks, she sounds more tired than angry or sad, "Draco, please, it's-- That's not what I meant to say. I just mean, I've been expecting something like this. For a while now, actually. Maybe since the beginning. When my mother first told me that I, the Muggle sympathizer of the family, and you, the petulant heir to the disgraced Malfoy empire, that we were slated to marry... Well, I suppose I thought we were both the best the other was going to get. Neither of us could necessarily be considered a desirable match by the old families after the war, and I knew my mother was far too wrapped up in blood politics to cast a wider net, so I resigned myself to it, to us."

"Tori, I'm so sorry. I never meant--"

"Please, Draco. Just--let me say this. I feel after reading your diary turned letter that I have you at a disadvantage in terms of knowing what's on your mind. What I meant to say is that I don't regret anything. When we were first married, I found you...humbled, by the War and by your trial. You were reserved and polite and more than a little guarded, but you weren't the irritable bully you had been at Hogwarts. As you slowly opened up to me about things, I must admit I fell in love with you."

Draco's eyes sting, "And I, you." His voice breaks over the last word.

Astoria meets his gaze again before looking back down at her hands and squeezing her eyes shut, "And Scorpius is the most beautiful gift anyone could have ever given to me. No matter what happens between us, I would never wish him away, but I--" she shakes her head gently and runs her finger along her wedding band, "I no longer think we are the best the other could get. You've changed, Draco. I've changed. The entire Wizarding World has changed. And all for the better, I think. Here." Astoria flicks her wand and a roll of parchment pops into being between them, "I've had them drawn up so there is no need to go in for the ceremony. Signing your name acts as the final step of the spell. That way, no one needs bear witness, so no tears need to be shed and your mother can't--"

A fat tear rolls down Draco's cheek and hits the back of his hand as he reaches for the scroll. He manages a single question in a shaky voice, "When--when did you do this?"

Astoria looks ashamed for a moment, "It was...not long after reading your letter to Harry Potter. I'm sorry, Draco," her eyes scan his and grow red-rimmed and wet, "I thought perhaps if you'd told me that day, after you'd finished speaking with our son, that I might have been able to forgive and forget. If you'd said, 'I've kissed Harry Potter and I regret doing so,' then we could have talked about it, maybe even talked about the letter, and been better for it. When you didn't, when a full week had passed and still you hadn't told me, I filed for divorce. And now it's been over a month. I can't-- Draco, all this time... Why didn't you tell me?"

Draco shakes his head and unrolls the parchment as more tears run down his cheeks and drip into his lap. What can he say? How can he explain? No mere words would be enough now. The only solution would have been to tell Astoria on their wedding day that he had been thoroughly obsessed with Harry Potter since hitting puberty and that he had amassed a secret stash of news clippings and love notes that served as a quasi-shrine to him. Draco clears his throat, "Um," a sniff to keep his nose from running, "where exactly do I sign?"

"Just--just here," Astoria's voice breaks at that and she turns away to dry her eyes.

Draco summons a quill and scratches his name on the parchment.


	16. Harry's Web

"No. This is bloody stupid! I'm not talking to that doll as if it's you when you're sat right there next to me!"

"Harry, come on then. You said you'd try this and I hardly think flat out refusing to do things counts as 'trying.'"

"Some people find the doll makes it easier to speak frankly, Mr Potter. If that doesn't prove true for you, we can always move on to something else, but I think you owe it to your wife to give it a try first."

A grunt of acquiescence, "Yeah...alright. Fine."

"Thank you, Mr Potter," a small doll in a floral print dress changes hands, "So then, what would you like to tell her right now?"

"I suppose I'd like to tell...erm...'Ginny' that--that this is _really_ bloody stupid!"

~*~

"Let's take a moment for a check in. From what your husband is describing, it sounds as though he doesn't feel heard very often. Does this come as a surprise to you, Mrs Potter?"

"Well, I--he's not generally-- Well, he doesn't listen to me either!"

"Yes, we can come back to that in a moment, but right now I'd like to focus on processing what Mr Potter has just confided in us. His thoughtful responses to your earlier sharing reveal marked improvement from our first few sessions, and I think it would be a show of good faith on your part to return the favor."

A surprised laugh, "You hear that, Gin? I'm winning for once!"

"Ah, but this back-and-forth listening exercise isn't about who's winning or losing, Mr Potter. Remember, if one of you is losing, you're both losing."

"Yeah, well, at the moment, I'm losing slightly less."

~*~

"Oh, yeah? I never listen, do I? Never hear you out about how bloody well _piqued_ you are that a certain blond arsehole had the _audacity_ to walk opposite you on the pavement, ah?"

"Mrs Potter, I hardly think--"

"No, I just can't believe that you thought, in your _infinite bloody wisdom_ , that New Year's Eve was a grand idea! That you know me _so fucking well_ that you thought, 'Oh, I know what would have Harry chuffed for 2018! A whole evening full of the same blond git he has me round the twist about! Yeah, right, perfect! And, to top it all, I'll leave him completely in the bloody dark about the whole--'"

"Because your son was over the moon about it, Harry! Because not everything is about _you_ , you and your bloody war scars! But you know what, go ahead! Run off to Hermione or my own _brother_ like you do and whinge on about me if I'm so--"

"That's it, is it? Well, why don't _you_ just run off for a cuppa with Luna, then? Tell her how bloody fucking terrible it is to be married to the Chosen One!"

"Mr Potter, please--"

"Oh, throwing that around in front of Muggles now, are we? Well, mighty _Chosen One_ , why don't _you_ \-- Actually, you know what? Why don't you go find your Malfoy instead, then? Maybe you two can toss off to how bloody _damaged_ you both are now that you've killed the Dark Lord!"

"Certainly sounds more appealing than spending on more minute with you in this--"

"Please, both of you--

"Oh, for Merlin's--" "Fucking hell--"

"Obliviate!" two voices shout over one another and two jets of light impact a forehead almost simultaneously.

"Both of us casting might have been a bit overdone."

"Stow it, Harry. Don't try and get cute after all that. If you're so worried you've botched a simple memory charm, you can stay. I'm leaving."

"Wait, Gin. Don't be like that. I'm--"

*CRACK*

"--sorry."

~*~

It had been at least an hour since Ginny had stormed off and presumably locked herself in the bedroom after what would likely be their last couples counseling session and Harry still hasn't seen fit to leave the kitchen. He leans dawdling against the counter with his chin resting on one palm and the fingers of his other hand drumming restlessly next to his forgotten cup of tea.

"This is bad," he murmurs to himself for maybe the fifth time since Apparating home. Couples counseling had been his last hope, the last thing that remained to be tried, and it hadn't worked. And it hadn't been purely his doing. He and Ginny had made a right mess of things, together. So what was left? Where could they go from here? He shakes his head, "This is really bad."

A sudden rap at the kitchen window snaps him to attention. He swings his head in the direction of the offending sound and is met by the unsettling gaze of a rather large barn owl. It taps its beak against the glass a second time and Harry moves to unlock the window and throw up the sash. As soon as there is enough of a gap, the owl shoves its letter-laden talon through and wiggles it a bit in Harry's direction.

Frowning, Harry undoes the twine and inspects the thin slip of parchment. _Addressed to me, but no sender, no seal, nothing._ He sets the letter on the counter and rummages for a treat for the messenger, but as soon as he offers the edible payment the owl lets out a hoot of protest and flaps its wings. _So the letter's meant to be read at once, then. Hm._ His curiosity captured, Harry casts a few precautionary spells meant to reveal any dark magic and, satisfied that the letter is likely harmless, opens it.

> We need to talk. If you are free to meet, please respond presently. I will be sitting by the window and wearing a silver scarf after 1 o'clock today.

The address of a coffee shop follows, but still no indication of who the sender might be. The handwriting isn't that of anyone Harry recognizes, either. He looks at the clock, which reads half twelve, and hums. As he slips the note back into its envelope, his heart leaps into this throat.

_What if it's Malfoy?_

Harry feels paralyzed for a moment while his brain gnaws on the idea. What did Malfoy want to talk about? Perhaps how absurd the "Potter-Weasley-Malfoy" idea had been? Their serendipitous choice of sulking venue? Their duel in the snow? Their...kiss? It occurs to Harry that just after having a massive row with his wife might not be the best time to meet with one of the primary reasons they had fought in the first place, but another part of him scoffs at this more reasonable part, _Well, Ginny was the one to tell me to go and find Malfoy, wasn't she?_

Harry and Ginny had taken to sending Lily to stay at her aunt and uncle's on the Saturdays they went for couples counseling (to spare her the aftershocks of their so called "progress"), so he had no parently obligation to stay at home. And if Ginny hadn't come to find him after an hour... Fueled by something he doesn't want to name, he continues through the process of rationalizing himself "free to meet" Malfoy and finally holds up a finger to his patient winged guest to signal that he is going for a slip of parchment and a quill.

Harry returns with a hastily scratched note that reads simply, "Yeah, alright." He hopes it speaks to a casual indifference rather than the overeager interest he actually feels. The clock reads quarter to one as he ties the slip of parchment to the owl's waiting leg and sends it off with the previously refused treat. He feels almost giddy with anticipation as he grabs his overcoat and heads for the door.

~*~

When he steps inside the designated coffee shop and doesn't immediately see anyone fitting Malfoy's description, Harry's excitement flags a bit. He takes to scanning the patrons closest to the shop's only window and there, sitting at a table by herself with a silver scarf as promised, is none other than Astoria Malfoy. She looks every bit the part of a common Muggle in a lavender jumper and a long, flowing skirt that hangs just above her ankles. A canvas bag adorned with a large sunflower sits at her feet. It occurs to him that no Malfoy he had ever heard of would dress down for a meeting with him, nor would they choose anywhere near Muggle London for the venue. Perhaps he should have thought a bit harder on it before just RSVPing to some random meeting in the middle of the afternoon because it _might_ have been Malfoy. Just as he thinks he's mistakenly spotted Astoria's Muggle doppelganger and starts to look around for someone else with a silver scarf, she notices him and waves. Surprised and more than a little confused, he takes a few tentative steps in her direction, "Astoria?"

"You were expecting someone else, perhaps?"

"Well, I--erm--I thought maybe--I wasn't entirely sure who--" Harry shakes his head as he sits down to stop from implicating himself as having been hoping it was her husband instead of her, "Anyway, what's this meeting about? I know Albus mentioned some trouble between himself and Scorpius since returning to Hogwarts--and I meant what I said in my letter, by the way. I'm really sorry for fouling up your New Year's Eve bash--"

Astoria waves away his apology, "No need. It's all in the past now. What's done is done." Her face softens in sadness for a moment, but she recovers quickly with a polite smile and continues, "This meeting isn't about our children's friendship, although I do hope they mend things soon. And I suppose in some odd way it is a bit about New Year's Eve, but not in the way you think. No, I--I wanted you to see this." She pulls an ornate parchment case from the canvas bag on the floor next to her chair.

Harry watches with interest as she opens the case and carefully removes a large roll of rather expensive-looking pure white parchment wrapped with an equally expensive-looking strip of silver ribbon, "What is it?"

"Let's call it a letter for want of a better word. This isn't the original, so--honestly, I'd like you to keep it. It's rather more yours than mine, really." She looks down at her lap briefly before lifting her eyes back to meet Harry's, "The first entry was dated the day after the Malfoys' trial. Go on, take a look."

Astoria passes the roll of parchment across the table and Harry takes it up. _Just after the trial? What is this all about?_ he thinks as an acute nervousness coils in his chest. He fumbles a bit with the ribbon before finally unrolling the thick letter and flattening it on the table. He runs his eyes over the first date and finds the accompanying entry is only one word long. 

"Just says 'Why?'."

"That's just the first entry. Keep reading."

Harry looks up at Astoria for a moment and finds her keenly watching him with an unreadable expression. She gestures for him to continue and he somewhat reluctantly returns his eyes to the parchment instead of asking one of his many unanswered questions. Perhaps the parchment in his hands holds some of the answers anyway. The dates of the next few entries place them at various times in the weeks after the Malfoys' trial. Harry reads them silently to himself.

> _  
> _
> 
> I didn't deserve it. I should be in prison like my father and all the rest. I took the Mark. I followed HIS orders. Why, Potter? Why would you show me any mercy? I didn't deserve it. 
> 
> Either time.
> 
> Any time.
> 
> Why?
> 
> \---
> 
> I heard what you said in your big speech, that Mother saved your life because she loves me, just as your mother had loved you. That we should all forgive, but never forget. Did you write that yourself, or was it Granger's doing? Either way... Thank you.
> 
> \---
> 
> You've never seen it, have you? I can still see it, fainter now, but still there writhing across my forearm when I'm shirtless. I've tried just keeping it covered, but I can still feel it, like a scab or a partially healed bruise. I wonder if the sensation will ever completely disappear.
> 
> Anyway, I'm glad you've never seen it. If you had, perhaps you wouldn't have grabbed hold of it and pulled me onto your broom.
> 
> \---
> 
> I saw you in the news again yesterday. They're really parading you around, aren't they? "Savior of the Wizarding World" and all that. I suppose it's fitting. And you absolutely abhor it, don't you? I used to think you reveled in your fame, basked in being "The Boy Who Lived," "The Chosen One," having people recognize you by your scar alone. But the look on your face up at that podium read as someone so weary of everything, most of all the fame. I cut out your photo to remind me you're just another tired, battle-worn wizard like the rest of us.

_  
_

A full week passes before the next entry.

> _  
> _
> 
> Do you ever think of flying? ~~I haven't been on a broom since~~ Lately, I've been wishing I could go back in time and play Seeker against you in sixth year. ~~instead of~~ As much as I hate to admit it, you really do fly rather well. I suppose I can say that firsthand, now that I've ridden with you.
> 
> I wonder if you'd play a Seeker's game with me if I asked.
> 
> \---
> 
> I had an odd dream last night. Odd because it wasn't a night terror. You were in it, by the way. You took me flying with you and I hide my face in your hair to keep from looking down for fear of seeing the flames. It was the closest I've come to a pleasant dream since possibly the end of fifth year. I know you'll never read this or have any idea you've done it, but thank you for keeping the nightmares at bay, even if only for one night.
> 
> \---
> 
> I've had another dream. Perhaps I should stop leaving your photo under my pillow at night.
> 
> Although I suppose there isn't any harm in dreaming, is there?
> 
> \---
> 
> I wonder if you ever dream of me. Probably not in the way I've been dreaming of you. I really was wretched to you. I really am wretched. I didn't deserve anything you ever did for me, so I most certainly don't deserve anything more. Some dreams can be as torturous as nightmares in the end, can't they?
> 
> I've put your photo away in my writing desk.
> 
> \---
> 
> It's really no use. I still remember the lines of your back pressed against me as I clung to you, whether I'm asleep or not. ~~Your eyes~~ ~~I'd like to touch~~ I want to turn back time, do it all over again. Screw the Novikov self-consistency principle. Let's start over. I'll find a Time-Turner and--

_  
_

"Well?"

Astoria's voice pulls Harry out of the simply unbelievable dreamworld written in neat cursive on the stack of parchment in his hands, "I--I don't-- Astoria, what is this?"

"I've told you, it's a something like a letter. A letter to you from Draco. It's obvious he never intended to send it, but--"

"No, I mean, why do you have it? And why are you giving it to me? Why would you even--"

"Because he was never really mine, Harry," Astoria shakes her head slightly, "No, I think it's quite clear his heart belongs to you and I just couldn't bear to think that you would never know, never read the--the frankly beautiful things he's written to you. Perhaps it was wrong of me, but now that we've gone through with the unbinding I can't help--"

"Wait, hold on. You and Malfoy, you've divorced?"

"Yes, about a month ago, the end of January. We've tried to keep it quiet and avoid the press, but--"

"Are you saying--wait--am I the reason-- What are you saying, Astoria?"

"I--I'm saying," she pauses and takes a steadying breath, "that you should read the last entry."

Harry wonders absently what Astoria's last name is now before the cataclysm of duel-kiss-divorce-letter crashes down around him. He can feel his hands shaking. He can feel sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. Hermione's words echo in his head.

_I think you're right. You and Ginny should get a divorce._

Harry glances across the table to find Astoria staring resolutely down at the parchment case still resting on the tabletop. He rubs his palms along his thighs to dry them before pulling the last page from the stack and scanning it for the last date.

> _  
> _
> 
> ~~31 December 2017~~ 1 January 2018
> 
> Forgive me my weakness, Harry. I've missed you so desperately, longed even for your scorn over never speaking to you again. To hear you say so fervently something that so aptly mimicked my sentiment? 
> 
> "I've really missed this."
> 
> It feels as though I was never truly alive before I heard those four words tumble from your lips. I couldn't hold myself back. I thought I must have been dreaming, that I had drifted off at the party. And the taste of your lips, the reverberation of your moans, the sensation of your body pressed flush against mine. They did nothing to signal that I was actually quite awake, as unbelievable as they were.
> 
> I have shut myself away for hours now and my mind is still a maelstrom of questions. How could that moment have been real? What were you thinking as you searched my mouth with your tongue? Were you thinking at all? Was it simply the adrenaline? Why did you push me away? How will I explain what happened to Astoria? Will you tell anyone your end of the tale? What are you thinking at this moment? Are you thinking of me? What am I meant to do next I see you? Will I see you again? Can I see you again?
> 
> I want to see you again.
> 
> I keep licking my lips and exciting the place where you've split them. I've never felt such breathtaking pain. I have so much to answer for, and I owe you so much. I truly believe that I could have been sustained for the rest of my days from the pure bliss that was trading absolving punches and fevered kisses with you.
> 
> I want to kiss you again.

_  
_

Harry sets the parchment down in front of him and leans back in his chair. The vast interconnectedness of everything looms over him like a dense fog. His history with Malfoy, his troubles with Ginny, the budding friendship between Albus and Scorpius, Hermione's advice, the Malfoys' divorce, the likely 50-page love letter written over nearly 20 years sat in front of him. He feels overwhelmed into nothingness--blank, numb, invisible. _What. Is. Happening?_

"Harry, I won't presume to know how you're feeling just now, but I-- If anything about Draco's words resonated with you, I--I think you should speak with him." Astoria slides a small slip of parchment bearing an address across the table, "I wouldn't overthink it. I don't think he would do anything more to complicate your life beyond what he has already done, but perhaps you can both find some solace in being honest with one another. Just--consider it," she reaches across the table and lays a hand on Harry's, "I know he wants to see you again, and not only because he wrote as much in his letter."

The slight chill of Astoria's palm leaves the back of his hand and Harry looks up at her as she stands. She busies herself stowing the parchment case back into her heartachingly Muggle bag and he can do little more than watch her in silent awe. He doesn't know what to say, where to even begin, so when she sets her hand on his shoulder as a way of signalling her departure, he simply blinks up at her.

As Astoria slips away past him toward the exit, Harry turns his gaze to the pile of parchment in front of him. After a beat or two, he slips the last page back into place and starts reading from the beginning.


	17. Best

So it was to be today, then. 

As she sets down the latest issue of _The Quibbler_ she had been perusing and turns to face her front door, Luna attempts some positive thoughts to ward off any Wrackspurts her soon-to-be guest might be bringing along, but she can't manage anything particularly optimistic. Another half of a second and she hears a tentative knock. Ginny hasn't come to say anything, really. There is no interest in a discussion or shoulder to cry on in the energy Luna feels rapping at the door along with Ginny's hand. Ginny has come to declare war on the War, to cross a line that can't be uncrossed, and to invite Luna as her accomplice in the act.

"Luna? I've had--I've had a rather off morning and-- Are you there?"

Luna hesitates part of the way through crossing the room and lingers a meter or so back from the threshold because she knows herself. After their near miss in her kitchen, Luna had declined every one of Ginny's invitations for tea precisely because she knows what would happen, where their conversations would inevitably lead, now that Ginny knows, too. There was simply no going back to a strictly platonic relationship for either of them now. Luna had hoped that putting some distance between them would give Ginny more time and space to mend things with Harry, but of course the only thing that would soothe Ginny's woes was completely impossible; Harry Potter would never not be obsessed with Draco Malfoy. 

Luna's shoulders sag as she moves up to silently press herself against her front door. She knows that if she opens the door, she is choosing her own feelings over Harry's, but the whipping hurricane of Ginny's aura shouts at her that he deserves no further consideration. Gusts of Ginny's aimless fury at the whole situation and frustration with both Harry and herself combine into an utter hopelessness that buffet Luna's cheeks like a harsh winter wind. Still, calling out from underneath all of the negative emotions are tendrils of longing and desire for Luna to allow a redux of the last time they had seen one another in person, now several months ago, but still burning passionately as though it had happened yesterday. The thrill of the lurid whispers percolating through the planks of wood separating her from Ginny sends a shiver along Luna's spine.

A sudden bitter flurry of disappointment filters into Luna's sitting room. She realizes she has not made herself known yet and Ginny must be considering leaving without knocking again, perhaps having lost her nerve in the moment. In the same moment, Luna considers the fact that she has always been Ginny's accomplice in surviving the War, so it would be rather silly to give that up now. Ignoring the niggling doubts about betraying Harry when he has so clearly betrayed himself already, she opens the door and crosses the threshold, "Wait, Ginny. I'm here."

"Oh, Luna. I'm--I shouldn't be doing this again, not after--" Ginny folds her arms and looks away to the side, "Anyway, I know you'd rather I leave. I'm sorry for bothering you." .

Luna stands blinking in the doorway. She usually knows exactly what she'd like to say and has no trouble in saying it, but everything is so fragile, like a garland made from thin slivers of broken glass has coiled itself in a precarious equilibrium around Ginny's soul, and one misstep from either of them would bring it all crashing down in a painful sleet. Luna can only recall ever seeing herself reflected as a part of someone else's suffering once before and she is quite sure that Neville would attest to how wholly unprepared she had been for it. Feeling more uncertain than she ever has in her life, Luna extends her hand toward Ginny, but stops just outside the reach of the shrapnel curtain of unease hung between them, "It's really no trouble, if it's you."

Some of the vitreous tension slips harmlessly away and a beam of brilliant light breaks through, reminding Luna of a younger, more vibrant version of the person standing before her. Ginny reaches forward and takes her hand, but the deluge of raw emotion at the contact makes Luna feel faint. Her knees buckle and she falls into Ginny's arms with tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. As some of the initial shock wears off, Luna wraps Ginny in a tight hug and snuggles her chin over Ginny's shoulder before asking the most important question, "Are you sure?" Luna feels Ginny nod as she buries her face in some of Luna's hair.

"What else can I do?" Ginny murmurs as she twirls the ends of Luna's tresses between her fingers at Luna's back, "And who am I helping if I don't?"

Luna considers this for a moment. If it had all gone as sour as Ginny's aura let on, then certainly both she and Harry would benefit. And surely Draco would be quite pleased. And Luna supposes that having married parents who were constantly misunderstanding one another had no real advantage over having two happier, healthier parents who were unbound from one another. Then a round, kindly face swims into her mind. Molly Weasley. There would be no seeing the good in it for Molly Weasley, "Your mother may find it difficult to accept."

Ginny sniffs and whimpers, "That's one way to put it."

Realizing belatedly that they are still standing about in her front garden, Luna pulls back from the hug, "Would you like to come in?"

Ginny nods and Luna leads her into the kitchen by the hand. She doesn't want to lose the physical connection by making tea, so she settles on drawing her wand and using magic instead of both hands. Ginny giggles at the spectacle and the warming rush of fondness in the laughter flows through their entwined fingers. Luna smiles and hums. This is the kind of moment she could wrap around herself like a blanket and bask in eternally if only the rest of the world would allow it. Unfortunately for both of them, the rest of the world was not a conscious being one could make requests of, and if Neville was anything to go by, Luna knows she must be firm in sharing what she wants.

Once Luna has two mugs of tea steeping on the countertop, she takes up Ginny's other hand and steps up until they are almost nose to nose. Waves of arousal crash through her, and although she knew her proximity to Ginny would almost certainly cause them, she has to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Ginny has already closed her eyes in preparation for their first meeting of lips, but Luna has to make everything perfectly clear before doing something that can't be undone, "I love you, Ginny, and I would like very much to kiss you--"

Luna is interrupted by Ginny's hot breath buffeting her lips, "Yes, Luna, please--"

 _I must be firm._ "--but I hurt someone before. I hurt him by endeavoring not to hurt him because I was hurt myself," Luna shakes her head, "And he never truly forgave me. I do not want to be the source of any more pain, either for others or for myself," Luna squeezes Ginny's hands in hers, "If I kiss you now, and tomorrow you have found a way to reconcile with Harry, I--" _Firm._ "I don't think that I could ever forgive you, or myself. So please try to consider past this one moment of passion before you answer. Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure," Ginny opens her eyes and tugs Luna toward her slightly so that their breasts brush against one another. Luna looks between Ginny's pupils (so large they obscure the color of Ginny's eyes), Ginny's cheeks (flushed at the apples), and Ginny's lips (parted and waiting). She can feel that Ginny is far too intoxicated by desire for her decisions to be considered rational, but then so is she. Luna leans in closer and Ginny's anticipation makes her head swim. She moans at the intensity of the emotion, every time she had dreamt or imagined this moment flitting through her mind, but Ginny doesn't have the same reverence.

"Merlin, Luna," Ginny unlaces their fingers and thrusts her hands into Luna's hair, pulling her into their first brush of lips. The contact is dazzling and again Luna's head is swimming and her eyelids are fluttering. She very nearly slips from Ginny's grip as she swoons, but Ginny's arms, solid and sensile from years of Quidditch, wrap around her and lift her onto the tips of her toes as Ginny deepens the kiss. For a moment, Luna thinks that the wanton, throaty noises she happens to be making must be quite loud and that she should endeavor to quiet down as a kindness to her neighbors, but Ginny's tongue teasing against her own whisks the more elaborate thought away almost as soon as it has formed, replacing it with a mantra of "Ginny, Ginny, Ginny, finally my Ginny."

A sudden flicker of uncertainty. Luna opens her eyes, although she doesn't particularly remember shutting them, and one of Ginny's hands is snaking up under the ruffles of her skirt. As her fingers explore the flesh of Luna's hip and thigh, Ginny's eyes widen in surprise, "Luna, you're not wearing any knickers."

"Well, I don't much see the point. They aren't all that comfortable and no one ever sees them."

Ginny gives an amused hum, but then does a double take, "Wait, does that mean-- Have you ever worn them? When we've met for tea..." Ginny trails off.

"No, never," Luna pants out. The lust setting her small kitchen ablaze nearly overwhelms her again. She has never been in a room with anyone so thoroughly aroused before.

"Merlin, Luna," Ginny wraps a hand in Luna's wavy locks and pulls her into a frenzied kiss just before sliding her fingers into the decidedly coarser hair between her legs and drawing a deep moan from Luna's throat. To Luna's dismay, Ginny stops just short and breaks their kiss to rest their foreheads together, "Luna, I--I've never done this before, not with another woman, I mean."

Ah, the source of the uncertainty is revealed. Luna smiles brightly, "Don't be nervous. I've never done this with anyone at all."

Rather than assuaging Ginny's worries, Luna seems to have provoked them further into being with her reassurance. Ginny pulls back slightly, "But, Luna, you--but, we're in our 30s. So, then--not even with Neville?"

"No. It's why we split up, in fact. It seemed cruel for my body to be with Neville, but my mind to be on you, so I--"

"Oh, Luna..."

"Please, don't worry, though. I don't think I've missed all that much. I quite skilled at masturbating and I'm very flexible, so I'm almost certain I can bring you to orgasm."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Oh, is it your inexperience, then? Here, I can help." Desperate to feel Ginny's concern melt away and to once again be overtaken by waves of mutual desire after waiting so long, Luna takes Ginny's hand and brings her fingers to her mouth. Without breaking eye contact with Ginny, she swirls her tongue slowly around each one in turn and then slips it between them. She feels Ginny shiver as she then guides Ginny's hand back down between her legs. She positions the pads of Ginny's fingers in the alcove just above her clitoris before splitting them into a V and running them along the full length of her lips. She has to stifle a moan as she closes the V of Ginny's fingers and runs them back to her clitoris before pausing there to move them in a swirling motion. She lets go of Ginny's hand, "There, that's one of my favorites."

"Merlin, Luna, you are so wet." 

Ginny's voice comes breathy and awed as she mimics Luna's movement, but Luna barely hears it. She mewls and arches at the wholly foreign sensation of not knowing exactly what will be touched when like she does when she's alone. Frantic for more, she wraps her arms around Ginny's shoulders and captures her mouth in a slightly clumsy kiss. Ginny groans and deepens the kiss, all the while tracing Luna's path over and over again with her fingers. Luna feels like she's unraveling between Ginny's tongue in her mouth and Ginny's fingertips touching all the right places, but when Ginny's fingers slide inside her and the pad of Ginny's thumb takes over the swirling jolts of pleasure, Luna truly comes apart with a shrill cry. She feels her fingers dig involuntarily into the side of Ginny's neck as she bucks against the waves of pleasure jolting down her spine. However skilled she had thought she was by herself, Ginny had just been infinitely better.

"Fuck, Luna, I--," Ginny swallows hard against Luna's palm, "I've never seen anything-- You look _so_ incredib--"

Luna holds a finger against Ginny's lips to quiet her. With the most glorious orgasm of her life still reverberating through every part of her body, she has in mind several other potentially life-course-altering activities to experience before she'll be ready for conversation again. Feeling more confident and emboldened with each passing moment, Luna takes her turn to display what a career in global exploration and mountaineering will earn you in strength. As soon as Ginny falls silent, Luna wraps her arms around her waist and hoists her onto the counter beside them.

Ginny lets out a surprised yelp that turns into a moan as Luna slides her hands up under Ginny's skirt to rid her of her inconvenient undergarments. Having never removed someone else's intimate clothing before, Luna finds that, even with Ginny lifting her hips to help, the silken fabric doesn't slip off as easily as she would have anticipated and instead gets caught at the bend of Ginny's knees.

Luna gives a frustrated sigh, "See, they're quite troublesome, I think."

Ginny laughs and kicks her panties to the floor as Luna slots herself between Ginny's legs and spreads them open wider. Luna's breath catches at the vista before her. Ginny has a wash of freckles spilling down her legs and sprinkled just above the hair between them, like dark stars in an inverted sky with a sumptuous rose as the center of this perfect universe. She suddenly feels inadequate, undeserving, even foolish, for presuming that she would be able to pleasure the woman before her with no directly relevant prior experience (she'd never been quite _that_ flexible). "Oh Ginny, you are so wondrously beautiful. You won't be upset with me if-- What I mean to say is, what if I can't-- Perhaps I overstated my--"

It's Ginny's turn to touch her finger to Luna's lips to quiet a tangle of inarticulate words clouding the atmosphere of the small kitchen, "Already covered. I've never, you've never, so no matter the methods, it'll be the best we've ever had. Agreed?"

Hearing the way that Ginny was thinking about everything bolsters Luna's confidence. _Although, if one follows that line of thought, it would also be the worst--_ Luna chides herself, _That's not how Ginny meant it._ She lifts her gaze to Ginny's and gives a resolute nod. As she lowers herself back between Ginny's legs, Luna only breaks eye contact when her neck can't crane any farther back. _A pity that one cannot easily see both a person's face and a person's genitals at the same time,_ she ponders to herself. Refocusing on the splendor inches away from her face, Luna kisses lightly along Ginny's inner thigh and revels in the soft sighs and yearning that once again envelop her senses. When coarse red hair tickles the end of her nose, she pauses to breathe in Ginny’s warm scent; it reminds her of gingersnaps and firewood, comfort and safety. Ginny's breath is coming out in heavy pants and her thighs are trembling, so Luna reminds herself that she will (hopefully) have many other occasions on which to take in and memorize Ginny's unique fragrance and returns to the same light kisses until she reaches her destination. She gently parts the rose-like petals of Ginny's labia and lathes her tongue extravagantly to mimic the swirling motion she favored when by herself. 

"Ah-- Luna--ah!" Ginny's plantive cry at the sensation forms into Luna's name and she fists her hands frantically into Luna's hair. The power of Ginny's reactions is so completely raw and unrestrained that Luna doesn't even have to ask what feels nice. With each new moan and quiver and sigh, Luna can feel Ginny offering more and more of herself until she is completely open, keening Luna's name and undulating against the thrill of her orgasm. Not one to leave things half done, Luna kisses her way back to a view of Ginny's face as she rides the last crests of ecstasy and soothes gentle patterns into Ginny's thighs, connecting the mahogany stars into constellations on Ginny's skin.

Ginny lets out a steadying breath, "I was wrong."

Luna's senses sharpen and she looks away in dismay. _Oh no. What have I done?_

Another steadying breath, "'Best' does _not_ even _begin_ to cover it."

Joy floods Luna's chest and she leaps up to wrap Ginny in a tight hug. Their mouths find each other and Luna feels like she could stay right here in this particular moment for the rest of eternity without a single regret.

~*~

After a lovely shared bath and quite a bit more snogging, Ginny and Luna sit curled together in a duvet in front of Luna's hearth sharing a plate of cheese and fruit.

"I would be open to hearing the full story, if you would be willing to tell it."

"Maybe another time. Right now I just want to bask," Ginny wraps her arm more tightly around Luna's waist under the duvet.

"When did you decide? I mean, what made you sure? About the unbinding?"

"If I'm honest, I've _been_ sure, Luna. Since Harry left me behind to go off and murder Voldemort I've been sure. I just--didn't want to believe it until now, that I'd been wrong about the man I'd fancied since age ten, the man who'd saved the world, the man who'd bloody _died_ and come back. Oh, Luna, how am I going to tell the kids?"

"In much the same way you just told me, I would think. Your unbinding is necessary because of a lapse in judgement on your part and has nothing to do with them. And that you still love them very much and want to be in their lives if they'll let you."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Oh, I don't think it will be easy at all. But I think most of the important things worth doing aren't easy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing femslash and I just wanted to thank [Mertiya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya) for all the help brainstorming and writing with me. This chapter would probably have remained incomplete without the assistance, so readers can thank Mertiya for not only this chapter, but also my ability to post the subsequent chapters which have been waiting in the wings for me to finish this one. <3


	18. Stubbornly Talking to Oneself

Nearly five hours and three and a half cups of coffee go by before Harry finally comes up for air from Malfoy's letter-diary, with the last line still lingering in his head.

_I want to kiss you again._

Despite Astoria's assertion that the letter was "frankly beautiful," it hadn't all been poetic prose and forlorn pining, nor had Malfoy written consistently over time. The first batch of entries extolling Harry's virtues had ended abruptly around the time he and Ginny had gone public with their engagement. For several months afterward, the tone of the entries was one of pure contempt for all things Weasley and insults to Harry's taste for choosing as such in matters of the heart. Then Malfoy's own engagement to Astoria had earned a single stilted entry, followed by nearly two years without anything more. Slowly, the entries picked back up in their original romantic style until a few months before Scorpius was born. The birth of his son had produced another multi-year gap in Malfoy's writing, after which he wrote to Harry as if he had never stopped, noting every time that they spotted one another in public and describing in detail every image of him that appeared in any newspaper with idyllic adoration.

"This is absurd," Harry mumbles to himself as he straightens the stack of parchment in front of him, "It has to be a joke, doesn't it?" In what world had Draco Malfoy, _the_ Draco Malfoy, written this near novel about his pure, enduring love for Harry Potter? And yet, here it was, a collection of solid physical objects almost mocking Harry with their impossibility. He begins rolling the pile into a tube and searching for the ribbon to fasten the pages back together simply to distract himself from how completely out of his depth he feels as snippets of Malfoy's entries tug at the edges of his consciousness.

Harry is sure he looks rather off talking to himself alone at a coffee shop, but the Muggles around him don't seem particularly interested, so he continues, "I should tell someone. I _have_ to tell someone." But who to tell first? He vacillates momentarily between firecalling Hermione to triage the increasingly ridiculous mess his life is becoming (until he thinks of Ron and Lily being there to potentially listen in) and explaining the whole sordid affair to Ginny (until he realizes that neither of them is in any shape to have _that_ particular conversation at the moment). He stares blankly at his knuckles and fidgets with the silver bow he's just tied as he continues to think.

The same part of Harry responsible for his disappointment when there was no pale, pointy face framed by platinum blond hair waiting to greet him earlier in the day helpfully reconstructs some of Astoria's words.

_I wouldn't overthink it._

_You should speak with him._

_He wants to see you again._

Astoria's voice morphs without warning into sighed whispers of Harry's first name that build and crescendo to match the blood pounding in his ears.

_Harry, I want to see you again._

The whole of Harry's awareness is usurped by the sensation of drowning in his own thoughts, of suffocating if he doesn't immediately act. He stands and whips his overcoat around his shoulders in one motion before tucking the letter into his breast pocket and snatching up Malfoy's address from the table.

~*~

Harry arrives in a hallway of grey and mauve doors with silver numbers affixed to them. The carpet under his feet is patterned in a gaudy paisley and worn in some places where the foot traffic is heaviest. It's not nearly as lush as he might have imagined when thinking of a place for the bachelor flat of Draco bloody _Malfoy_. He makes his way to the door marked "12" and raises his hand to knock. He hesitates a moment, almost long enough to change his mind and just firecall Hermione instead, but he's here and he's not sure if he'll ever have the nerve again, so he raps his knuckles against a repainted patch of wood where the inlay of a knocker remains behind its missing occupant.

For a few tense seconds, Harry is met with silence. Undeterred, he knocks again and adds a nervous greeting. "Erm...Malfoy? Are you home?" With that, he hears a familiarly irritable voice muffled from behind the door.

"Yes, yes, I'm just here. Give me a moment to dry my hands. I swear, Roger, if it's about someone smoking again I've told you it's not--" the door swings open and Malfoy drops the ladle he's holding with a clatter, "--me." The last word comes as a awed whisper.

Harry raises his hand in a halting wave and forces a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood, "Yeah, not Roger."

Malfoy narrows his eyes and slams the door in Harry's face without another word.

"Wait, Malfoy! I--I just wanted to talk for a bit!" After several hours sat with a 47-page-long love confession from someone and the reassurance of their recent ex-spouse that they would most definitely like to see you, having the door slammed in one's face is not exactly the welcome Harry had anticipated. When the door doesn't reopen, Harry sighs and decides that he came here to say some things, so he was bloody well going to say them. Namely, that he wasn't the amazing person that Malfoy's letter had apparently hinged on him being. "Er..." _Where to start?_ "I'm a right mess, you know. I...I have nightmares. And I still see his face. And Sirius' face. And--and your hand reaching out of the flames. I'm not some perfect hero-- Look, 'Savior of the Wizarding World' just isn't all it's chalked up as, so--" 

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy opens the door a crack, "Harry, I don't mean to be rude. Actually, I _do_ mean to be rude, so may I inquire as to what business you _think_ you have prattling on at my doorstep? How do you even know where I live? I just moved in not even a month ago. Did Luna give me away?"

Harry manages to do little more than blink at him.

"Look, Harry--"

Harry flinches, "Stop. Stop it! Don't call me by my first name like we-- We're not even proper friends!"

Malfoy sighs, "Okay then, _Scarhead_ , we're _all_ broken. Are you under the impression you're the only one with night terrors? The only one who can't forget the things that happened?" Malfoy looks to the side and his voice gets quieter, "The things that you did with your own hands?" He regains his composure and pins Harry with a hawkish glare, "Well, get over yourself. Honestly, you are the last person I'd like to be speaking with at the moment, so if you wouldn't mind terribly I'll bid you good day--"

Being needled by Malfoy as if they'd picked up right where they'd left off after the War and with the soft words of Malfoy's letter lazily floating through his mind, Harry desperately wants their conversation to continue. He realizes he has no idea where this is going, but he suddenly wants to be there at the destination. As Malfoy moves to shut his door again, Harry shoves it back open against him, "Then why did you write this letter?! And why..." Harry casts his eyes toward his feet briefly and swallows, "And why did you kiss me that night?" He's barely audible by the end of the question, he knows, but he's terrified and confused and excited and overwhelmed. These kinds of things shouldn't happen to a married 37-year-old with three kids. These kinds of things shouldn't happen at all.

Malfoy's eyes widen, "What letter? What are you talking about?" Malfoy throws the door open and fists his hands in Harry's jumper, "What letter?!"

Shaken, Harry slowly draws the bundle of parchment out of his overcoat. Malfoy snatches it from him and skims the first page with a yelp. He locks eyes with Harry and mutters, "She didn't," before slipping nimbly back into his flat and slamming the door again, this time complete with the mechanical sounds of a lock clicking into place and the sudden absolute quiet characteristic of a silencing charm.

Harry thumps his forehead against the door and growls in frustration. He'd half-expected Malfoy to kiss him and half-expected a punch to the nose. Either would have been better than standing leaned against a locked door with neither letter nor answers. Harry's stubborn streak rears it's head, "You've got to come out of there sometime." He dismisses the thought that Malfoy had quite possibly already Disapparated off somewhere and slides down to sit against the wall outside the door. Even if waiting up for Malfoy outside his flat was ultimately pointless, Harry doesn't feel like going home, either. He _feels_ like talking to Malfoy and if camping out in the hallway was as close as he was going to get at the moment, he would take it. He lets his head loll against the wall and thinks of flying.


	19. Startled into Shaving

As he finishes casting a few protective charms to keep Harry from barging in after him and a silencing charm to keep Harry's voice from tempting him back out into the hallway, Draco leans against his front door and slides down into a sitting position. He lets the altogether damning bundle of parchment in his hands slip onto the floor and pulls his knees to his chest in defeat. How had he gotten here? Divorced, living alone in a dodgy Muggle flat he'd chosen because he'd thought no one would suspect it, and now with every one of his deepest secrets divulged to the one person he most feared would find him out. He cringes with the unadulterated humiliation of it all.

The metal ladle Draco had been cleaning moments before catches the lights of the kitchenette and he picks it up from where he'd dropped it. He swivels it slowly in his hands and observes his features in magnification--his lined forehead, his receding hairline, his unkempt stubble, his pallid complexion. "What a miserable spectacle you are, Draco Malfoy," he chides himself as he sets the ladle back on the cold linoleum beside him and buries his face between his knees, "Utterly fucking pitiful."

After a few minutes of silent wallowing, Draco takes up the ladle and the bundle of parchment and stands up. Harry's sudden appearance at his post-divorce haven, other than completely destroying any semblance of peacefulness he might have been feeling up to that point, had reminded him that he should probably go ahead and have a shave, and it seemed a manageable thing to do compared to thinking further about any aspect of his wholly woebegone life. He sets the ladle in the sink and then crosses to his minuscule fireplace to toss the unauthorized copy of his diary into the flames.

"Draco, I'd like your opinion on a bit of a conundrum, if you're available."

At the unexpected sounds issuing from the crackling wood, Draco involuntarily tosses the stack of parchment into the air and it flies apart into a flurry of pages that gently drift to the floor around his feet.

"Oh, did I startle you?" Luna's molten face tips quizzically to the side.

Draco runs a palm down one side of his face to settle at his chin, "Yes, a bit," he huffs out a shaky breath, "S'alright, though, Luna. What do you need?" The idea of talking about someone else's problems is strangely appealing at the moment, and Luna's problems are generally more adorable than disheartening or frustrating anyway.

"I'm just wondering, in your experience, is being with another person more or less enjoyable than masturbating?"

Thoroughly scandalized, Draco splutters out, "Luna! What do you mean asking me something like that?"

"What I mean is, I've just had sex with someone and--"

Draco is gobsmacked. Romantic relationships have been conspicuously absent from Luna's life for most of their time as friends. "What?! Who was it, then?"

"It's not really my place to say. I think she would rather me keep it secret until--"

"Wait, _she_?! Oh, Luna, you simply can't drop a bombshell like that and-- Do I know her?"

"I really shouldn't--"

"Is she a Muggle? Gah, this is going to drive me even more insane than I already am!"

Luna's ashen brow shifts pensively, "Well, I suppose it's safe to tell you that she's a witch, but you're much too clever to hear any more hints."

At that, Draco feels rather sheepish. Luna had firecalled him to ask an honest question and here he was interrogating her, "Forgive me, Luna. I'm sure you'll tell me when you can, yes?"

"Of course. Thank you for understanding. You're always so thoughtful, Draco."

Draco gives Luna a heartfelt smile. Of all the people he had ever met, she was the only one who always had something nice to say about him, no matter the situation. He shifts the conversation back to her inquiry, "Anyway, in regard to your conundrum, I personally find being with someone else to be quite a bit more satisfying than wanking. I suppose it depends on the person, but yes, usually better."

"Oh, good. That was certainly my experience as well. I just wanted to make sure."

Draco knows he shouldn't ask, but he's too curious not to, "So, Luna, does that mean...you've just had your first time? At 37?"

"Hm, she asked me the very same question. I suppose it's a bit rare to wait so long, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant to imply at all. It's just..." Feeling again like he's overstepped his bounds as Luna's friend, Draco trails off and kicks at the parchment still strewn across the floor in front of him. Remembering what the collection of pages represents gives him an idea of how to change the subject, "Luna, can I tell you something in the strictest confidence?"

"Certainly, I'd love to hear about your progress with Harry."

"What? That's-- I-- Yes, well," Draco doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the way everyone seems to know him so intimately despite years of directed effort at maintaining his privacy, "I kissed him, Luna. On New Year's Eve."

"Oh, I'm so pleased for you, Draco! Congratulations!" Luna's bright smile is further accentuated by the burning embers that make up her lips.

"What? No! Not 'congratulations'! It's why Tori and I divorced! And he's a married man with three children!

"Do you dislike children?"

"Um, I-- No?"

"Then you needn't worry about Harry. I don't think he's told Ginny, by the way."

"Luna, what do you mean? How do you know that?"

"I'd really rather not say," Luna's face falls ever so briefly before returning to a dazzling grin, "Oh, I'm just so, so pleased! For the both of us! What lovely news! Well, I should let you get on with the rest of your evening. Thank you for--"

Still trying to parse the information Luna has just imparted, Draco belatedly processes that he hasn't even gotten to the crux of the matter, "Wait, Luna! There's something else, if you have another moment."

"Of course."

"He--he knows I have feelings for him," Draco takes to muttering, "along with the whole of Wizarding London, apparently," he raises his voice again, "and he's just come by for a visit, I think with Tori's blessing--"

"Oh, Draco, and you sent him away. Why?"

"I--I-- Well, because it's quite clear he has no idea what he's doing and, as I've just said, he's married--"

"And as I've said, you needn't worry. You should definitely invite him in next time. I'm sorry, Draco, but I really should be going. I'm brewing a batch of Nargle repellent for my mistletoe and I don't want it to boil over."

Feeling a fair bit perplexed, Draco waves inattentively in Luna's direction, "Yes, right, I should just...get back to shaving, then."

"Splendid idea! Harry has always seemed quite fascinated by the contours of your chin. Good night, Draco."

Luna's face falls away back into the flames and Draco is left to puzzle over her words in the silence of his flat. He resolves to sleep on the lot of it and treat himself to tea at his favorite cafe in the morning to mull it over. Ignoring the mess of parchment still covering most of his sitting room floor, Draco moves wordlessly toward the bath while running his fingers along his chin.


	20. Threshold

A door shutting nearby wakes Harry up with a start, "Hm? What time is it?"

"Harry?!"

Harry looks up from where he's sat and is reminded of exactly where he is and why, "Malfoy! Malfoy, wait, don't leave! I'd like to--"

*CRACK*

~*~

"Harry?! Ginny's been out of her head about you! You weren't there this morning when 'Mione and I dropped Lily off and she was barely holding it together! Missing for almost a whole day, she says! Where in a bloody hell've you been, mate?"

Unprepared for Ron to be the one answering the door, Harry tries to concoct something that will deescalate things without actually divulging anything of what he's been up to, "I've just been-- I've just seen-- I-- Look," he sighs, giving it up as botched from the start, "I just really need to talk to Hermione."

"Ah, Malfoy, then, is it? Those dark circles say either 'met him at a pub and we got pissed trying to out-drink each other' or 'finally lost it and stayed up all night watching him from the bushes.' Please tell me it's the first one, ah?"

Harry sighs again. He hates lying to Ron, but there's nothing else for it, "Yeah, mate, you've found me out. A bottle and a bit of firewhisky each. My head's killing me and I've got to come up with something to say to Gin, so I figure Hermione's my best chance."

Ron laughs and claps Harry on the shoulder, "Too right she is. I'll go get her. And chin up! It's better than punching him, isn't it? That's progress!"

Ron shuffles back inside and beckons Harry to come with him, but Harry shakes his head. He doesn't need any Extendable Ears listening in from the next room, "I'd...er...rather wait out here. Otherwise I'll just have to re-acclimate to the blinding sunlight again once I've left." Harry shrugs awkwardly.

Ron shrugs back, "Suit yourself."

As Ron shuts the door, Harry scrambles to think of how to tell Hermione any portion of his story, but he has barely 10 seconds to do so. Hermione is out the door and standing arms akimbo on the stoop with him as though she had Apparated there.

"Harry James Potter, I do not care _what_ you've gone and done with Malfoy last night! Go home this--this _bloody_ instant! Talk. To. Your. Wife!"

Harry lowers his voice in an attempt to prompt Hermione to do the same, "No, Hermione, please. Just let me explain--"

"Harry, listen to me. This whole Malfoy business is getting--"

"No, _you_ listen!" Harry hisses as he wordlessly casts Muffliato. Having no other well-thought-out options, he opts for the plain unadulterated truth, "I haven't been out to the pubs with Malfoy."

"I'd gathered as much, since that's the story you've just told Ron to cover up whatever reckless, irresponsible--"

"It was Astoria, alright! Astoria sent me a invitation to coffee yesterday afternoon!"

Hermione's eyes widen, "Harry, you didn't--you couldn't-- No, you wouldn't-- Did you spend the night with Astoria Malfoy?"

"What? No! She just wanted to give me a letter. A," Harry swallows, "a 47-page love letter from Malfoy."

"Harry! What are you--"

Harry motions for her to just let him speak, "Yes, yes, I know. 'That's-rubbish-talk-to-Ginny.' I know. Just listen to me. He started writing it in 1998 and just kept it up until now. I've only seen what he's written up to New Year's, because I'm guessing that's when Astoria found it and made a copy. The last entry was pretty well damning and they've divorced over it, I think."

Hermione's jaw, which has been steadily dropping with each additional syllable, snaps back into place, "Wait, divorced? Astoria and Draco Malfoy are divorced?"

Harry nods, "And he's living in a shabby block of Muggle flats, yeah. Astoria said he'd like to speak with me and gave me his address, so I--"

"So you spent the night with _Draco_ Malfoy?!"

"No, no, he wouldn't even let me into his flat."

"Well, good! At least _one_ of you is thinking clearly!" Hermione taps her fingertips against her chin, "Wait, that still doesn't explain why you've been out all night, then."

"Because I slept in the hallway of his building waiting for him to come out."

"Merlin, Harry! I can't _believe_ \-- No, actually, if I'm honest this all makes perfectly logical sense coming from you, the Chief Warlock of Terrible Decisions," Hermione rubs her forehead between her index finger and thumb and then her face softens, "What happened at couples counseling yesterday? Does Ginny know--"

"That I've had a snog with Malfoy and I'd like to duel him again at the next conceivable opportunity? No, we didn't get quite that far. The last thing she said about Malfoy was that I should go toss off with him over how fucked up the two of us are."

"I don't thinks she meant you to take the suggestion literally, Harry."

"Of course not, but I--I have to follow this up, don't I? I need to know why--"

"No, Harry! For Merlin's sake, no, you don't! What you have to do is go home! If you want any hope of salvaging things with Ginny--"

"Aren't you the one who's told me we should just divorce and have it done with? 'The only rational thing to do,' yeah?"

"Well, I--"

"And I've already tried salvaging it. Hermione, it's like trying to restart a fire with damp wood on a rainy day...and I--I've got so many questions for Malfoy. He bloody well bolted as soon as he saw me in the hallway and I've..." Harry sighs, "I've just got to find him, alright? I need to know why..." _...why I can't stop thinking about him._

"Harry, please, before you," Hermione sighs, "you go off searching for your recently divorced childhood nemesis who is also apparently in love with you," Hermione covers her eyes with her hand for a moment before dropping it to her side and looking back up at Harry, "I'm begging you. For the last time, go home to your wife. You owe her that much."

Harry isn't really listening anymore as four words rattle around in his head. _In love with you._ He's done talking to Hermione. He's done talking to Ginny. Until he finds Malfoy, until he talks, actually _talks_ to Malfoy, he's done with everything. He needs closure and he needs it now. Harry knows what he has to do. He Apparates away without another thought.

~*~

After checking back at Malfoy's flat just to be sure it had remained unoccupied during his conversation with Hermione, Harry stands racking his brain for where Malfoy could possibly be. Since the answer is basically "anywhere," he doesn't get all that far. The only place he can think of that he knows Malfoy has gone to hide from him before is the Three Broomsticks, but considering how that had backfired the last time, he probably wouldn't've chosen it again this time, would he? Still, perhaps returning there would spark something for Harry, and it seemed a cozier choice than a bleak block of flats for planning his next move, anyway.

Before he can even get his bearings, the barkeep groans loudly from behind the bar, "Not you two again! If yer lookin' fer that white-haired arse from New Year's, he's already gone."

Harry's heart leaps into his throat, "What?! So he's been here? How long ago?"

"Not much more'n a quarter hour, I 'spect. Just keep yer rowin' outta me bar this time, ah?"

"Yeah, will do. Thanks!"

The barkeep waves Harry off with a surly chuckle and he runs out into the street. He frantically scans his surroundings, trying to catch a glimpse of his quarry, then realizes where he might be. His overcoat flaps extravagantly behind him as he sprints toward the alley and skids to a stop in front of it. There, crouched between piles of rubbish, is Malfoy in a pair of perfectly pressed trousers, a suit vest, and a silk button up, all topped off with a long, black overcoat. The contrast between his pristine appearance and the relative squalor around him makes Harry grin.

As soon as he spots Harry, Malfoy jumps up to stand and takes a stumbling step backward, "Merlin, you fucking persistent bastard! Can't you give me even a moment's peace?!"

"I could say the same to you! I'm not the one who's kept up writing a bloody letter to someone for 20 years!" Harry takes a step forward, "Why, Malfoy? Why did you-- What did you-- What do you want from me?"

"I'll Apparate to the fucking _moon_ if you take one more step in this direction! Just you try and follow me there!"

"No! Please, just wait a minute. I just want some answers. I just want to know," Harry swallows, "why would you write a letter like that to someone like me?"

Malfoy grabs the sides of his head and lets out a frustrated growl, "I can't-- Don't torture me like this! You've read the bloody letter! You _know_ all the bloody answers! And you just--you can't just ask me these kinds of questions when we both know you don't plan on doing anything about any of it!"

"Well, what exactly am I meant to do?! What did you expect? Fucking hell, Malfoy, I spend literal _decades_ sat thinking you couldn't stand the mere sight of me and I come to find out, through your bloody ex-wife, no less, that you're..." _You're in love with me._ Harry falters. Malfoy is right. What further need to interrogate anything is there? Why is he even here if he doesn't have a plan, something he wants to accomplish with all of this? He shakes his head, "No, you're right," he swallows audibly, "I know how you feel about me, so," he takes another step toward Malfoy, "so why don't I answer some of your questions, then?"

Malfoy blinks at him, "What?"

Harry can feel his hands start to shake so he shoves them in his pockets, "You...er...you wanted to know if I would tell anyone what had happened, yeah? Well, I did, and she--she told me I should divorce my wife over it."

Malfoy looks dumbfounded as he starts to lower his hands to his sides, "Granger, was it?"

Harry nods, "And do you know why she suggested it? Because I bloody well told her I'd like to do it all over again if I could. That's what I was probably thinking while you were writing your New Year's entry. I was wandering around on the outskirts of Hogsmeade thinking about how much I wanted to duel you in the snow again and how much I--how much I--" Harry clears his throat and looks away, not quite ready to say what he'd meant to just then. He selects another of Malfoy's questions instead, "You also wanted to know if I'd play a Seeker's game against you if you asked," he locks eyes with Malfoy again, "In a fucking heartbeat I would, then or now. Honestly, I think I would've even if you'd asked me when we were sixth years! No better feeling than seeing your sneering face after I've beaten you to the Snitch!"

A minute smile catches one corner of Malfoy's mouth and Harry takes another step forward in an attempt to bolster his confidence for the next question, "And you wanted to know what I was thinking while--while 'I searched your mouth with my tongue,' I think it was?" he can feel his cheeks heat at the memory, but Malfoy's own blush boosts his courage to continue, "Well, I--it might have been partly the adrenaline, but I was--thinking that you're not a bad kisser and that--that hearing you sighing my first name--I wanted to hear it again." _I wanted to kiss you again._

_I was thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you again._ As Harry takes a moment to process what he's just admitted to himself, Malfoy closes the distance between them and wraps Harry's forearm in a tight grip. Harry blinks out of his rumination to find Malfoy's features set into a determined expression. Malfoy shuts his eyes briefly with a resolute nod to himself and the sudden jolt of a side-along leaves Harry stumbling over in front of the grey and mauve door marked with a silver 12. Harry braces his palms against Malfoy's chest to catch himself and looks up sheepishly. A retort about how much he hates side-along Apparition dies on his lips, because Malfoy is staring so intensely back at him that the flames in the Room of Requirement seem rather brisk in comparison. Without breaking eye contact with Harry, Malfoy wordlessly opens his door and beckons Harry over the threshold. 

_This is it._ Harry realizes that this step is the last before he can no longer argue that this, whatever _this_ would turn out to be, was all Malfoy's doing. Taking this step would mean admitting to everyone, most of all himself, that he wanted this, too. He breathes out noisily, nods resolutely, and takes a definitive step past Malfoy over the threshold. 

The implications of standing in Malfoy's flat set Harry's heart racing. Malfoy is right there with him, looking as though he is holding his breath as he steps inside as well and gently pushes the door shut behind them with the tips of his fingers. He searches Harry's face with his unrelenting gaze. They aren't touching, they aren't even all that near to one another standing just inside the door together, but every part of Harry's body feels as though a torrid, crackling force is arcing between them, magnetizing him to close the distance, making it almost painful to be apart. With an unsteady intake of breath, he steps forward and slides both hands into the hair at the back of Malfoy's neck. Malfoy's Adam's apple bobs and his lips part. His pupils are blown so wide that his eyes look almost black instead of their usual slate grey. Harry's terrified, but he wants this. God, he wants all of this. Another ragged breath and he leans in to capture Malfoy's lips in a single, tentative kiss.

And then another.

And another.

Rather than offering any respite or relief, every meeting of lips makes the pounding in Harry's chest more powerful and the already nigh torturous need for more that much stronger and more urgent. A moaned rendition of his first name from Malfoy and he's lost to it, nothing left in his mind but pure, unadulterated desire. He shoves Malfoy against the door behind them and capitalizes on Malfoy's little gasp of surprise to plunge his tongue into Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy responds by fisting his hands in the back of Harry's shirt underneath his overcoat and grinding their hips together as their kisses grow more and more frantic.

Harry comes up for air, panting in a ragged breath, and it's his turn to gasp in surprise as Malfoy shoves him backward until he tumbles backward over the arm of a nearby sofa. Malfoy sends his own overcoat into a pile on the floor in one clean movement and then pounces on Harry, rucking his shirt up and lathing his tongue over Harry's newly exposed chest. Harry mewls and arches up against the assault before scooting back more solidly onto the couch and pulling Malfoy down with him. With their bodies flush again, Malfoy returns to rutting against Harry and begins sucking and nipping at the base of his neck.

Harry groans at the new onslaught and touches Malfoy wherever he can manage, "Fuck, Malfoy! Just--"

"Oh, say it, please. Just once, like we're lovers. Say my first name." Malfoy pants out as their cocks brush against one another through their trousers again and again.

There's a pleading quality to Malfoy's otherwise wanton voice that short circuits Harry's brain. _But we are lovers, aren't we? Or we're going to be? Does he think this is a one-off?_ A sudden panic grips Harry. He has to show Malfoy how utterly wrong he is if he thinks they won't be doing this again. As Malfoy continues to buck against him, he leans in and breathes against the shell of Malfoy's ear, "God, make me feel alive again, Draco, like I never died. Please, anything. Punch me, bite me, cast on me," he feels a groan of his first name rumble through Malfoy's throat as his thrusts grow more erratic, "I'm yours, Draco. I--" he moans at another well-placed thrust of Malfoy's hips, "Fuck, I think I always was." 

With that, Malfoy lets out another even more guttural rendition of Harry's first name and descends upon him, fisting a hand in Harry's thick mane of hair and yanking his head to the side for better access to his neck before biting down and sucking painfully at the skin of his throat. Harry cries out Malfoy's first name again without really thinking, which earns him another savage bite to the neck and a demanding hand against his throbbing cock.

Malfoy squeezes him through the confining fabric and moves to nipping at his earlobe, "Yeah?"

Harry isn't sure what Malfoy is asking, but whatever it is, he knows he wants it, too. He manages a breathy "yeah" against Malfoy's cheek in response. Almost immediately, his fly is undone and Malfoy's hand is on him underneath his pants.

"Fuck, Harry. Merlin, _fuck you_ for making me wait 20 _fucking_ years," Malfoy starts to stroke and Harry wants to sob for how glorious a proper touch feels after all the teasing friction, but Malfoy swallows his strangled cry in a ferocious kiss. Their teeth knock together as Malfoy sucks Harry's lower lip into his mouth and bites down hard before soothing over the wound with his tongue. Harry moans and arches into him as the taste of Malfoy's lips on his mingles with the coppery sting of his own blood. He's so close, but he doesn't want this unreal moment to end. He grasps for something, anything he can say to keep Malfoy here ravishing his mouth and body forever, but Malfoy barely lets him speak between kiss after deep, frenzied kiss, "God, ah, Draco. Mm, don't stop. Never, ah, never stop! Ah!" Malfoy picks up the pace of his strokes as Harry speaks until he's spilling over Malfoy's fingers. Harry is momentarily dizzy from his orgasm and Malfoy carries him through it, strokes growing more languid and kisses becoming more tender. He hasn't even gotten his cock all the way out of his pants and it's still some of the best sex Harry has ever had. 

As Malfoy starts a frenetic chant of Harry's first name while kissing along his jaw and sucking softly at his neck, Harry realizes Malfoy's probably still achingly hard inside his trousers and hooks a tentative finger under the waistband, "Shall I--"

Malfoy shakes his head, "No need, when you said that you'd always been mine..." Still panting with exertion, Malfoy points down to his zip and Harry notices a dark patch of fabric. Malfoy smooths a hand down Harry's chest, "Did you mean it?"

Harry can't ignore the fact that Malfoy has been on his mind in some way or another since the day they bloody well met. He swallows and nods, "I--yeah. I think I did."

A sudden guarded expression clouds Malfoy's post-coital glow, "So what then? What are we? What--what are you thinking now?"

Harry reaches up to cup Malfoy's cheek and notices absently that it's smooth and hair-free, "You shaved."

A bit put out, Malfoy breaths out through his nose, "Well, you said I looked atrocious during our New Year's duel, and I couldn't bear it. Not from you."

Harry lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head, "I was just being a prick. You've never looked anything but post in your whole bloody life," he runs his thumb along Malfoy's clean-shaven cheek, "although I think I do prefer Draco sans beard. You look younger, like we aren't nearly 40 and, just maybe, we aren't too old to be getting off almost fully clothed on your sitting room furniture."

Malfoy smirks at that, but quickly frowns again, "I'm serious, though. What-- How are we-- What are we meant to do now? Everything seems so--so bloody complicated!"

Harry licks his lower lip where Malfoy had bitten it moments before, "You know, I thought so, too. But if I'm honest, what's there to do, really? You and Astoria are already divorced...so...I think really the only rational thing to do is-- Yeah, I think I'm going to take Hermione's advice."


End file.
